


Cheese Sandwich

by ncruuk



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, No Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 06:10:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6554086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ncruuk/pseuds/ncruuk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For many couples, it starts with a kiss.</p><p>Kate and Osgood aren't many couples.</p><p>For them, it started with a cheese sandwich...</p><p>[This is a 'prequel' fic that precedes Osgood joining UNIT.  Whilst it is not necessary to read the rest of my Kate/Osgood stories (since it is a prequel), you may wish to so as to get a complete 'picture' of my 'headcanon' for these two.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Friday, 20 August 2004: Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> This story starts in August 2004.
> 
> If you've read 'Every Relationship needs a Handkerchief' and 'A New Year...and McGillop drank (most) of his beer' (both available via my author page here on AO3) then you probably have a pretty good idea what's about to happen in this story. If you can't remember/haven't, it doesn't matter, but you might like to give them both a read at some point in order to get the full 'picture'.
> 
> Either way, I hope you enjoy the read.

“Contents of today’s ‘bag’ for you Ma’am.”

 

“Thank you.”  Distracted by the telephone on her desk which suddenly started to ring, General Winifred Bambera, Head of UNIT Europe and therefore the boss of all the European national leads except London, watched with resignation as her assistant placed the miscellany that was her share of the contents of today’s ‘bag’ on her desk whilst reaching for the handset.  “Bambera.”

 

“Darling, I got you!”  

 

“Years ago…” sighed the General, mouthing ‘thank you’ to her assistant when a cup of still hot coffee also appeared to have made its way to her desk during her last meeting.

 

“Have you had your post yet?  And why so glum, chum?”

 

“Just now…”  In spite of her paperwork induced ‘funk’, Winifred Bambera couldn’t suppress the half smile that the familiar tease caused, “...and the ‘post’ as you call it.”

 

“That’s why I called.  Have you found it yet?”

 

“Found what?”  Intrigued by the mystery more than she was irritated by the deliberately cryptic nature of the question, she began sifting through the stack of papers, trying to find what might fit the criteria whilst she waited for a further clue.  Dismissing all the standard looking UNIT briefing papers, letters and signals that generally made up her share of the documents that were still flown out from UNIT London in a diplomatic bag each week, she began to lose hope of working it out for herself. “...what am I…wait….” Spotting a small, handwritten envelope that could best be described as ‘unofficial looking’, Winifred pushed all the other papers aside and considered the envelope.

 

“You’ve found his note then.”

 

“Yes.”  She was halfway through opening the envelope before she’d spotted the real mystery.  “Wait.  How do you even know I got this?” Winifred Bambera’s confidence in the security of the diplomatic bag was unshakeable, but equally unshakeable was her faith in Florence.

 

“He rang me, just now.”  Picking up her (hand-thrown) coffee mug by its decidedly wonky handle, Florence headed out onto the chalet’s veranda, enjoying the view across the sunshine drenched valley to the mountains.

 

“I’m opening it…” As she slit the cream envelope open, Winifred could hear the gentle rattle of Flo’s beads and the occasional creak, suggesting she was sitting in the rocker outside, “...and I must fix that floorboard…”.

 

“We’ve got to do something,” insisted Flo firmly a few seconds later when she could no longer cope with the silence, “to help Baby Brig I mean, not the floorboard.”

 

“Like what?”  Not that Winifred disagreed, but she wasn’t very good at thinking up ideas for these sorts of situations.  “And don’t call her that!”  That was the problem with Flo and her nicknames - she always managed to remember not to use them at the right times, unlike Win, who always worried she’d use them when, as Flo put it, she was ‘trying to be the General’.

 

“I don’t know, but I know what we mustn’t let her do.”

 

“Which is what?”  General Bambera might not be renowned for accepting the opinions of others without testing and challenging them, but reading her old friend’s note for the second time, Winifred knew this wasn’t a time for Generals and their attack plans, it was a time for friendship and support, and in those matters, Win always trusted Flo implicitly.

 

“Be alone and drunk.  Or finish today sober,” declared Flo, suddenly realising what needed to happen.

 

“Which means?”  Win had a pretty good idea she knew some of what she was about to be asked.

 

“Can you order her home with you?”

 

“Kate’s a civilian, I can’t order her…” Winifred took a sip of her coffee as she considered her options, “...but how about I bring her home for lunch and we go from there?”

 

“You’re not going back to the office after lunch half-cut!”

 

“Wasn’t planning on…” Win took another sip of her coffee and found herself realising that actually, lunch was quite some time away.  “Does this plan of yours need supplies?”

 

“I don’t think so…” Flo thought for a moment and then stopped worrying - she was a natural, generous entertainer and one person for an afternoon’s moral support in the traditional guise of Dutch Courage, friendship and chocolate was not a taxing party plan.  “What time should I expect you?”

 

“An hour?  I’m going to go get her now.”

 

“I do so love a woman of action General…”

 

“Yes, well.  None of that around Kate,” stumbled Winifred, feeling her cheeks flame.  Why was it, after all this time, she could still be teased by her partner like that?

 

“Thank you darling.”  Flo took a long drink of her own coffee, feeling much more relieved now that her partner had agreed with her worry and had ‘taken charge’ of getting Kate out of the office, as Flo had no idea how she would have achieved that on her own.  “I doubt she’ll get weepy, but if she does, I promise you won’t have to be the hanky…”

 

* * *

  


“Come in!”  Putting aside her pencil, Kate winced as she realised that if her neck was already protesting when she was just looking up at her office door, it was going to be a long, slow Friday that would no doubt have her seeing double and triple by the end of the day.

 

“Sorry to disturb you Ma’am…” her assistant paused when he saw her sitting rubbing her neck and wincing, thinking her reaction was directed at him interrupting, “...I know you said not to disturb…”

 

“It’s fine.”  Kate tried to smile but suspected the overall effect was more of a grimace.  “I’ve been at this report since I came in this morning and I’m only on page 7 of…” she turned to the back page, “72.  What time is it?”  As she asked, she looked across her desk, searching for her watch, which she’d taken off not long after settling down to do battle with this supposed ‘final’ draft.

 

“Just after 11 Ma’am… you’ve got post.”

 

“Post?  From the bag?”  Surprised, Kate stretched properly, completely oblivious to the effect the contortion had on her appearance given that, in a concession to the warm summer’s day, she had come to work in just a light cotton print dress.

 

“Yes Ma’am.”  If he sounded a little strangled, it had to be because of his tie, didn’t it?  Nothing whatsoever to do with his boss, his very English, very female Boss.  He held out the envelope for her, “du cafe, I mean coffee Ma’am?”

 

“Thank you…” Taking the envelope from him, Kate looked thoughtfully at him, “everything ok Jacques?”

 

“Oui Ma’am, yes, coffee!”

 

Bemused, Kate watched him rush from her office, presumably in search of coffee, wondering what was causing his fluster.  Normally totally unflappable, her Swiss-French assistant who, now she thought about it, she’d never seen him get into a linguistic tangle in the three months she’d been permanently assigned to Geneva, was clearly in a tizz about something.

 

“Wonder what’s up with him…” she muttered to herself, about to put the ‘post’ aside and resume her tussle with paragraph 32 when she realised that he’d given her an envelope, not a report.  Furthermore, now she paid attention to it, the weight of paper was wrong for an inter-office memorandum or briefing, which was her usual post.  In fact…

 

“Looking at it won’t change anything.”

 

“What! Oh, General.”  Startled out of her daze, Kate instinctively scrambled to her feet, the envelope still held in her outstretched arm.

 

“This is a Win moment…” began General Bambera, hearing Jacques coming up behind her with a coffee, “...ah, thank you Jacques…” she helped herself to the mug, deciding she needed all the stimulants she could get her hands on to survive these next few minutes, “...clear Dr Lethbridge-Stewart’s schedule for the rest of the day.

 

“Oui, I mean yes, General Bambera.”  Relief at being able to retreat to the ‘safety’ of his desk trumped curiosity, and Jacques disappeared, closing the door behind him.

 

“I have no idea what’s wrong with him…” began Kate, looking at _her_ coffee which her father’s longstanding friend was now nursing, “...he’s just started like that now…”  Confused, and somewhat disgruntled about being deprived her coffee which, now she could see it, she realised was probably the only thing that was going to get her through paragraph 32, Kate dropped the now forgotten about envelope on her desk and sat down, gesturing for Winifred to take a chair and make herself comfortable.

 

“I can guess…” muttered Winifred, having heard Jacques mumbling to himself about his _English boss, female boss,_ when she’d passed the small kitchenette area just down the corridor a moment earlier but deciding not to bring it up.  “I see you’ve got your post.”

 

“What?  Yes.”  Kate glanced at the envelope before looking at the General, “and I see you’ve got your coffee…”

 

“Open the letter Kate.”

 

“It can wait,” dismissed Kate, her continually developing sense of duty and satisfaction in a ‘job well done’ seeing her more focussed on wanting to find out what brought the General to her office and clearing her diary just now.

 

“Kate…” There was a low note of warning in Winifred Bambera’s tone of voice that was intended to make the blonde reconsider.

 

“With respect General, I’m sure it can wait until after whatever it is you wanted to see me about.”  Intention and effect were two very different things, especially when it came to trying to negotiate with Lethbridge-Stewarts.

 

“You’re just like your father…” In spite of her frustration, Win could see the funny side, “and it’s why I’m here.  Open the letter Kate.”

 

“General’s orders?”  Leaning forwards, Kate reclaimed the letter and, with a final suspicious glance at Winifred who was looking artificially relaxed, tore the envelope open and started to read.

 

“Kate?”  Seeing no response to her call, Winifred put the coffee mug down on Kate’s desk and leaned forwards, calling Kate’s name again a little bit louder.

 

“Yes?”  For the second time that morning, Kate winced as her stiff neck protested when she jerked in response to a noise that she thought was a knock at her office door, only to see the concerned face of Winifred Bambera looking at her.  “Oh.”

 

“You zoned out.”

 

“I…”  Kate swallowed and looked again at the single piece of paper the envelope had contained, with a brief handwritten note attached to it with a paperclip.  “This…” She looked back up at Winifred, her face, realised Win later when she would try and explain to Flo what had happened, seeming to crumple as Win watched her process the significance of what she was holding.  “It…”

 

“Yes.”

 

“But… not yet…” Kate was conscious she wasn’t making much sense but her brain felt like it was suspended in treacle, able to ‘see’ what the missing words and thoughts were, but not able to reach out and use them.

 

“Yes yet.”  Win almost smirked when she realised how silly she sounded, only to sober immediately, knowing that this was not the time for humour.  “It’s real Kate, it’s over.”

 

“It’s done?”  Kate looked down at the piece of paper as if seeing it for the first time, “it’s done.”

 

“Come on.”  Standing up, Winifred held out her arm in the universal ‘come with me’ open armed gesture that normally would have had Kate leaping to her feet, but not today, not whilst she was still staring at the piece of paper in a daze.  “No more office for you today…” As she spoke, Winifred walked around Kate’s desk and, standing next to Kate began to tidy up the papers enough that they could leave together and for Kate to not come back until Monday.

 

“I’m fine.”  The movement of papers on her desk seemed to startle Kate out of her daze.

 

“Well I won’t be if you stay here.”  Win glanced at the report title as she tidied it to one side, “and neither will you if you plan to spend more time on that report today.”

 

“It’s supposed to be a final draft.”

 

“And you’re only as far as paragraph 32 on page 7.  What time did you get in this morning?”

 

“You know I got in just after 8…” They’d shared a lift up from the lobby coffee stall, “...and I got straight onto it,” defended Kate, not appreciating what she saw to be an implied criticism of her workrate and standing up without realising it, so she could look the General straight in the eye.

 

“Stand down Kate…” warned the General, not rising to the ‘bait’, “...wait and see what Monday brings for that stack of drivel.”  Despite her emotions being extremely mixed up and volatile, Kate did manage a slight smile at that description, knowing that the General wasn’t a fan of even the very best written UNIT reports if they ran to more than 6 pages long.  “In fact, when, no _if_ the rest of this building gets as far as paragraph 32 I will eat my beret for you.  Without caesar dressing.”  That, Winifred was pleased to see, did get a fleeting glimpse of a smile from the blonde, who was one of the many privy to Win’s opinion that the only way she was ever eating something that described itself as a ‘salad’ was if its total volume was less than 25% any sort of salad leaf and came with an equal volume of leaf and caesar salad dressing.  “But come on,” she repeated, this time managing to get Kate to turn away from her desk and reach for her briefcase that was also her handbag, “no more office for you until Monday.”

 

“General’s orders?” asked Kate, finding all her fight had gone as she looked one final time at the piece of paper and then put it carefully in her briefcase.

 

“Far more serious…” It was a risk, teasing Kate at any time, but Win was confident this time, “Flo’s orders.”


	2. Friday, 20 August 2004: Gin

 

“How’s she doing?” asked Win, coming into the kitchen to see her partner stood with her hands clasping the top of one of the tall chairs they had tucked under the kitchen island, looking out to Kate, who was stood on the veranda.

 

“She’s so quiet.”  Flo felt Win put her arm around her shoulders as she spoke and leaned into the familiar embrace, “you got changed?”

 

“Whilst I took the call,” explained Win, using the hand that wasn’t holding Flo against her to check she’d got her shirt tails tucked in neatly, “didn’t think buttons and braid would help.”

 

“Thank you darling…”  Flo turned and pressed a gentle kiss to her lover’s cheekbone, “...I’m sorry I dragged you away from the office.”

 

“Don’t be.”  Win glanced down at her lover and smiled before turning with a frown back to look out at Kate who, she now saw, wasn’t just ‘quiet’ as Flo had put it, but somehow ‘small’ as well.  “This is where she needs to be.”  She gave Flo’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, “I’m going to work in the den.”

 

“But…”

 

“I’m not the reason this is where she needs to be love…” Win kissed the top of Flo’s head, her lips brushing against curls that were now more grey than the auburn she’d first kissed years ago not that she noticed and, if she had, well, she was hardly free from signs of wear and tear herself.  “...where’s her son?”

 

“Fiji, according to Alistair.  With a school friend and his family.”

 

“So he’s safe?  Maybe I’ll go see what I can do…”

 

“Fiji is a long way from Thomas…” began Flo, changing tack when she felt Win’s back muscles tense, “...but I’m sure Alistair will feel better knowing you’ve looked into it as well as him.  But come out in half an hour?”

 

“To do what?”  Not that Win was going to say no, but she wanted to know what her mission was, as 30 minutes wasn’t much time to prepare…

 

“Bring the bread and cheese board please?  We’re going to need food,” said Flo, patting Win’s stomach affectionately as she stepped away from her loose hold.

 

“Is half an hour long enough?” That didn’t seem very long for Flo to work her magic and get Kate to open up, even by someone as biased as Win when it came to putting faith in Flo’s talents.

 

“Long enough?” Flo wasn’t following her partner’s train of thought.

 

“To get her to talk.”

 

“Nope, but it’s long enough to get her to drink…” Blowing Win a kiss as she set off, Flo grabbed the small drinks tray she’d prepared and headed for their guest who, now she was no longer alone, needed to be given the opportunity to get as drunk as she felt like.

 

* * *

 

 

“Yodelling is a real thing here,” remarked Florence conversationally as she put the drinks tray down on the table just behind where Kate was standing.

 

“What?”  Startled slightly, Kate turned around to see what had caused whatever noise it was that she’d just heard, “oh, I’m sorry…”

 

“Don’t be, and you’re fine,” dismissed Florence, not needing any help, “and I only said that yodelling is a real thing here, in Switzerland.  Try an almond?” She held out a small dish containing some lightly salted toasted almonds that were, assuming you didn’t have a problem with nuts, usually extremely moreish and therefore ideal for counteracting a sharp shot of spirits.

 

“Thank you.”  Despite not feeling in the mood for eating anything, manners meant Kate accepted the dish and dutifully crunched her way through two nuts.  “Yodelling?”

 

“The alpine mountain calls that evolved into choral songs?”

 

“I know what yodelling is.”  Kate was totally confused but didn’t intend to tell Florence that she was making no sense, not if she wanted to be able to work with General Bambera on Monday.

 

“They don’t really do it here, it’s more of a Germanic thing now, but the valley’s very satisfying and the avalanche risk is low.”  As she spoke, Florence occupied herself with preparing two good sized gins, with ice cubes and freshly squeezed lime juice.  Tonic was not on the menu for this round.

 

“I’m sorry Florence, I have lost your thread,” admitted Kate finally, not noticing that she was methodically working her way through the rest of the almonds.

 

“The echo,” Florence held out one of the glasses to Kate who took it cautiously, “is very satisfying and works just as well on screams and shouts as yodels.  And we don’t sound very English if you stick to a nice open ‘ar’,” Florence demonstrated, quietly, “so no one will know it’s you.”

 

“You want me to shout down the valley?”

 

“Just presenting it as an option, if it helps.  But drink that first.”

 

“I’m…” Kate looked nervously at the glass and back towards the living room where no doubt General Bambera was getting ready to return to Geneva.

 

“Welcome to stay here as long as you need to my dear.”  Florence put her own glass down and moved around the table so she could stand next to Kate, “you’ve had a surprise with that letter…”  Flo wrapped her arms around the unresisting Kate and gave her a quick hug before pulling back slightly so she could look at her more closely, “...you will get to relief and moving forwards, but for now you’re in shock.  But with friends.”  Flo gave Kate another firm but swift hug before stepping back enough that she could reclaim her own drink, ready to keep her young guest company.  “There’s no ‘right way’ to cope Kate…scream if you want to, cry if you need to, curl up and sleep if that’s all you can cope with.”  Flo watched as Kate’s eyes, which had been nervously shifting from side to side looking anywhere but directly at Flo, start to slow as her words began to sink in.  “Win and I won’t judge or criticise or do anything other than listen if you want to talk, talk if you want to be distracted…” Flo straightened the hem of her sleeve, which had caught on her bracelets, creating a light, tinkling sound on the warm summer breeze, “...if you need to laugh I can get Win to tickle you….”  Kate’s eyes focussed directly on Flo’s and frowned, not sure she’d heard Flo correctly, “...she can’t tell a joke if her life depended on it.  But she’s a reasonably competent tickler.”

 

“Uh…” Kate looked from Flo to the glass she held, not really remembering accepting it from Flo.  “Is the tickling optional?”

 

“My dear…” Flo wrapped her arm around Kate’s shoulders and turned her so they were looking out down the valley together, “...out there, for Kate Lethbridge-Stewart, everything’s optional…” Flo held up her glass and looked at it thoughtfully, before looking sideways at Kate who was starting to look a little less dazed and deciding to risk another joke, “...except that gin. I’d say you’ve earned it!”

 

Kate lifted her own glass and watched the sun glinting on the ice cubes, lost in some distant memories that Flo couldn’t begin to guess at and didn’t want to try to speculate about, before finally taping her glass against Flo’s own and wordlessly knocking back the generous measure in one go.

 

“Another?” asked Flo a moment later when Kate had stopped blinking.

  
“Not just yet…” said Kate, putting her glass down before leaning on the railing, “...were you serious about the yodelling?”


	3. Friday, 20 August 2004: Chocolate

There were few things good about Bushy Park if you were Osgood, but when the sun was shining on a pleasant Friday afternoon in August and her meeting had finished late enough to count as ‘home time’, it was tolerable.  That her meeting had finished early enough for an ice cream cone to be squeezed in before the ‘mustn’t spoil your appetite for supper’ guilt set in was a noteworthy bonus that meant she was even prepared to risk walking across the freshly cut grass to buy it.  As she sat on the grass to eat the ice cream, using her satchel as a back rest, she was also pleased to note that her latest preventative inhaler appeared to be working.  

 

It was therefore a relaxed, slightly sticky and chocolate flavoured Osgood who found herself trying to angle her mobile phone screen such that she could read who had just sent her a message in the bright sunlight, before, a smile on her face, she sent a quick reply back.

 

* * *

  


“How is she?” asked Flo, seeing Win carefully closing the doors onto the veranda behind her.

 

“She sent a text to her friend…” Win heard the sound of an incoming message from behind her and glanced over her shoulder, seeing Kate reading the message before pressing what was presumably some sort of speed dial code, “...who is clearly around to talk to.”

 

“Is that a good idea?” Flo’s question caused Win to frown, prompting Flo to continue, “I mean, she’s had a couple of drinks...she’s not, you know, ringing him?”

 

“No.”  Win continued around the kitchen island and put her hands on her partner’s hips, encouraging Flo to turn into her offered hug.  “She’s not ringing Thomas.  Do you remember Tom Osgood?”

 

“I think so…” Florence thought for a moment, trying to match the name to a face she’d been introduced to at some point in the past, “...wasn’t he the Brig’s bumbling boffin?”

 

“That’s him, but don’t call him that.”

 

“Baby Brig is calling the Brig’s bumbling boffin?”  At least, that’s what Flo hoped she’d said - she didn’t think she’d had so much to drink that tongue twisters were beyond her, but she was not the gal she’d lived the 1970s as.

 

“Don’t call her that! And no,”  Win double checked she’d untangled Flo’s tongue-twister that Win knew she’d never get right, no matter what she had or hadn’t drunk, “I mean, her friend that she’s calling...she just calls her ‘Osgood’, and she’s his daughter.”

 

“Small world.”  Flo studied Win’s suddenly very ‘schooled’ face carefully.  “Very small world.”

 

“Isn’t it.”  Win’s non-committal answer prompted a fresh round of scrutiny and thought from Flo.

 

“How do they know each other?”

 

“I can’t answer that.”  General Bambera was very, very well trained in resisting interrogation.

 

“Does Kate know you can’t answer that?”

 

“No.”  Win however, would always respect clearances and keep secrets appropriately ‘secret’ but could not and would not outright lie to Flo.

 

“But she will, one day?” asked Flo, knowing she was potentially pushing Win further than even she would let her.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

* * *

  


“What a pleasant surprise,” remarked Osgood as she answered her phone, not having expected a phone call with Kate this week.

 

“Hello you…” Now she’d actually heard Osgood’s voice, Kate’s earlier confidence appeared to temporarily desert her.

 

“How’s your Friday afternoon?  Shouldn’t you be at the office?” Osgood glanced at her watch as she asked this, double checking that yes, it was still office hours in Geneva, even for a Friday.

 

“I’m at Winifred Bambera’s place…” Kate hiccuped slightly, “...and Flo’s helped me drink quite a lot of gin.”

 

“Are you drunk?” Osgood asked the question with a grin on her face and a smile in her voice - she couldn’t remember ever seeing Kate actually inebriated; over the legal limit to drive? Certainly, but _drunken_? That would be a new memory to store for another day.

 

“No…”  Kate carefully concentrated on moving the strands of hair that were tickling her nose somewhere else.

 

“Are you sure about that?” Sensing that this phone call might take a little bit of time, Osgood pulled her satchel into her lap and started to rummage for her preventative inhaler whilst she waited for Kate’s answer.

 

“No...I mean yes…”  Kate frowned as she heard Osgood’s gentle laughter, “I mean…” Kate made a huffing sound as she tried to blow away the strand of hair that was now getting caught in her mouth, “I am not drunk, but I’m a bit... tiddely-pom.”

 

“Tiddely-pom?”  Inhaler in hand, Osgood fastened up her satchel and moved it a couple of feet away from her.  “Really?”

 

“No…” Kate’s frown deepened as she tried to organise her thoughts.  “Tipsy.  I’m tipsy.”  Satisfied that she’d found the right word, she slumped back in the chair she was sat on, grinning.

 

“Hello tipsy,” teased Osgood as she slightly repositioned her canvas satchel so it made a more comfortable headrest now she was lying on the warm, dry grass, both of her inhalers resting on her stomach, just in case. “Why are you tipsy?”

 

“Because I’m not tiddely-pom.  Who’s tiddely-pom?” Kate chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully as she watched the soft white clouds drift across the blue sky and disappear over the horizon.

 

“No one.”  A part of Osgood wished she was recording this phone call, if only to tease Kate with the first time Gordy drank too much, “but Winnie-the-Pooh tiddely-pommed in a song.”

 

“Oh.”  Kate thought about this for a moment, unwittingly humming the little song that Pooh had created and Gordy had always giggled to.  “It wasn’t Pooh.”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“Tiddely-pomming.  He got Piglet to do them.”  Whilst Kate waited for Osgood to confirm her agreement with this declaration, she carried on humming the song, including the occasional ‘tiddely-pom’ for good measure.

 

“You’re talking about the Disney version,” said Osgood finally, having taken a moment to watch a cloud drift across the sun and off towards the distant City whilst she remembered her Winnie-the-Pooh.  “The proper cartoon version I hope.”

 

“There’s an improper cartoon?” Kate remembered reading the stories about the little yellow bear with the red shirt and very little brain to Gordy. “How? Pooh’s already not wearing trousers.”

 

“Not improper indecent,” corrected Osgood, preparing to explain, “there’s a new TV series I think, it’s too obviously CGI rather than drawn.  Pooh shouldn’t be round and shiny.”

 

“It was when Gordy was little.”

 

“Proper cartoon then.  And in the book Pooh does the tiddely-poms.”

 

“You’re sure?”  Kate wasn’t actually disagreeing with Osgood because she thought she was wrong, she just liked to hear her say ‘tiddely-pom’.

 

“The more it snows, tiddely-pom...Yes, I’m sure.”  Osgood heard Kate’s chuckle, “wait, you just want me to say ‘tiddely-pom’ don’t you?”

 

“Maybe.”  Kate moved her phone from her right hand to her left hand and relaxed back into the chair, watching the shadows the clouds made rush up the sunlight valley.

 

“Why did Flo help you drink quite a lot of gin?” Osgood had not yet met the lady apparently responsible for Kate’s current inebriation, but did remember seeing a couple of photographs with her in and knew of her from some of Kate’s stories about life in Geneva.

 

“Because yodelling didn’t help.”  Many people would have reacted crossly or with irritation to Kate’s cryptic and unhelpful answer, but many people would have also failed to notice the catch in Kate’s voice.  Osgood however, wasn’t ‘many people’, and hadn’t been ‘many people’ for a little while now, although she was extremely careful to keep those thoughts very firmly out of her mind when she was with Kate, her friend Kate, her married-to-a-man friend Kate.

 

“Gin’s probably less intrusive for the neighbours,” observed Osgood dryly, knowing from past experience she would make more progress in getting Kate to open up if she was gently teased rather than directly challenged.

 

“Now it is…” There was something about the way Kate left that statement hanging that led Osgood to believe that a gentle prod would be safe.

 

“What did you do?  And did it involve an alphorn?”

 

“Discovered gin doesn’t make yodelling easier...alphorn?  What makes you ask that?” Kate couldn’t follow Osgood’s logic.

 

“You are in Switzerland.  They have alphorns.”

 

“Not everywhere…” Kate frowned, trying to remember if she’d seen one, “or anywhere… I think.”

 

“Have you looked in the right places?” The question was asked gently, the teasing warm and kind rather than harshly or with criticism as Osgood continued to watch the clouds drift over her head and wait in the warm sunshine for Kate to provide further hints and clues as to why she was uncharacteristically ‘tiddley-pom’ on a Friday afternoon.

 

“Probably not…” Kate lapsed unexpectedly into silence as suddenly she was assaulted with a memory of _him_ shouting at her for being a ‘bad looker’ because she’d not found whatever it was he’d lost at that moment, but she was a very good ‘looker’ for the things she needed to find for herself and Gordy:  what she wasn’t was a domestic slave.

 

“Kate?”  Concerned, sensing that they’d finally reached the reason for Kate’s more unusual afternoon and unexpected phone call, Osgood sat up, slipping her inhalers into the safety of the pocket of her chinos as she moved.  “What’s happened?”

 

“Kate Perkins is gone.”

 

“Oh.”  Osgood didn’t trust herself to say anything more for a moment whilst she worked very hard at carefully and deliberately focussing her emotions on her friend, and what this meant for her, and her son.  “Does Gordy know?”

 

“Not exactly…” Kate picked up her forgotten glass and drained the last drops of gin flavoured melted ice cube, savouring the feeling of the moisture in her unexpectedly dry mouth.  “...I don’t think he was distinguishing between the move and the final paperwork.”  Now she was actually thinking about it, and talking about it, Kate felt incredibly sober and clear headed.

 

“That makes sense,” said Osgood thoughtfully, recalling being impressed with how matter-of-fact and level-headed it sounded he was being about the situation his mother had found herself in with her husband, and how supportive he had been when she’d realised there was no option for her but to put permanent distance between the two of them and Thomas Perkins.  In fact, based on what little bits and pieces Kate had told her whilst it was all happening, it sounded like he had been so supportive and mature during the Easter holidays that at times Osgood had to stop and remind herself that he wasn’t going to be fifteen until next month. “Were you expecting it today?”

 

“No.”  Kate looked thoughtfully at her left hand which, over the last seven years she had become used to seeing with a simple gold wedding band on it; a simple gold wedding band she had left with the lawyers in London.  “It’s over.  I’m…”  She ran out of words, not quite sure what she was.

 

“In need of a hug,” said Osgood simply, glancing at her watch before, not letting herself get distracted with overthinking, opening her satchel and checking the contents.

 

“That won’t be…” Kate stopped, her automatic ‘won’t be necessary’ feeling out of place and wrong.  It was what Kate Perkins had always said, to anyone other than Gordy, but she was gone, the piece of paper confirming her divorce from Thomas proof positive that she no longer had to be that person, fulfil that role.  She was Kate Lethbridge-Stewart and what what Flo said?  For that person, everything was optional?  A hug… that sounded nice, better than nice in fact…  “That would be almost perfect, so would be lovely.”

 

“What would make perfect?” asked Osgood, standing up and taking a moment to get her bearings before setting off towards the exit of the park she wanted.  “You’re entitled to perfect.”

 

“Chocolate.”

 

“Chocolate?”  Osgood couldn’t believe what she was hearing.  “Has Switzerland got a milk crisis or something?”

 

“They have lots of chocolate, but it’s not…” Kate looked down the valley which, although still drenched in the afternoon sun, didn’t feel bright and optimistic but instead served to remind her that she was not at ‘home’.  Which would have made some sort of sense if she knew where ‘home’ was.

 

“Dairy Milk?” guessed Osgood, her confidence in her plan growing.

 

“Fruit and Nut.”

 

“So perfect would be a hug from someone with a big bar of Fruit and Nut?”

 

“Yes.  No.”  Kate frowned - there was still something not quite right about that description.  “Not someone.  Someone means anyone means nobody.  You’re not nobody or anyone.”  She chewed her lip, her drying mouth that still had the residual taste of gin reminded her she wasn’t quite sober and that maybe she needed to go and find a glass of water, but talking to Osgood felt right and normal and...like she was a person in her own right.  “Perfect would be a hug from you…”

 

“But only if I had a big bar of Fruit and Nut?” teased Osgood, pleased that not only was the bus stop where she remembered seeing it, but that there was a bus approaching that was going where she knew she needed to go.

 

“Yes!”

 

“Have you had a glass of water yet?” The bus was stopped at a red light, giving Osgood an extra minute or so.

 

“No… I should do.”  Kate stood up, feeling the telltale head rush that told her she was a drink or two past ‘relaxed’ but still a long way short of ‘drunk’.  “I’ll call you back.”  And, just like that, before Osgood could say anything, Kate was gone which was exactly what Osgood had thought might happen and just proved what Osgood had known, what Flo knew, and what Kate had yet to discover about herself.

 

Kate Perkins was indeed gone, but then she’d only ever existed on paper, the paper that registered the marriage of Thomas Tarquin Perkins to Kate, mother of Gordy ‘I’m not a Perkins’ Lethbridge-Stewart.  

 

But Kate wasn’t gone, and as for ‘Kate Lethbridge-Stewart’?  Her time was about to come, starting with a hug and big bar of ‘Fruit and Nut’ from not somebody, anybody or nobody, but from Osgood who, having taken her seat at the back of the deserted bus, got out her phone and finding the number she was looking for, waited for an answer.

 

“Hi Dad?  Did Winifred Bambera’s Christmas card have her home phone number in Switzerland…”  As the bus turned a corner, she was reminded that her inhalers were still in her trouser pocket and so occupied herself with putting them safely in her satchel whilst her Dad found the number.

 

“I’ve got a pen,” she confirmed, pulling a pen from the side pocket of her satchel and holding the phone to her ear with her shoulder so she could write it down on the back of her bus ticket.

 

“Thanks.”  It was only now she had the number that her father asked her why she needed it.  “I’m going to Heathrow…” Osgood took a steadying breath, not quite believing what she was about to say next, but knowing everything would make sense to her father once she told him.  “Kate’s divorce came through this morning, she’s just rung and…”

 

As Osgood struggled to find a comfortable position to sit in on the uncomfortable bus seat whilst she explained to Tom Osgood what her plan was, the only other passenger on the bus slouched a little lower into his seat and let his panama hat slip forwards.  Between the brim of the hat over his eyes and the brightly coloured knitted woollen scarf which, despite being wrapped loosely around his neck was still excessively long, it was would have almost impossible for Osgood to see his face.  

 

Not that it really would have mattered had she noticed him watching her.  She wouldn’t recognise him even if she had seen his face, not now, not yet.

  
And that suited the Doctor just fine.


	4. Friday, 20 August 2004: Water

Immediately prior to Kate and Win’s unexpected arrival, Flo had received her latest artworks (large 10 foot square canvases painted with bright, energised streaks of colour) back from the framers.  Whilst Win took a phone call, Flo had asked Kate to help her inspect the pictures which were leaning against each other in the hallway, where the framers had left them that morning.  The problems began when Win, her phone call finished, came through to see what they were up to.

 

“Is that the right way up?”

 

“What darling?”  Flo hadn’t been expecting Win to join them just then, and had missed what her partner had said, being more focussed on looking at the first picture which, with Kate’s help, they’d managed to tear off enough of the paper in order for Flo to inspect her handiwork.

 

“This is one of those pictures you finished last month?”

 

“Yes, for the Bank.  Why?”  Still only half paying attention to Win, Flo stood with her head at an angle, trying to work out what was bothering her.  Kate meanwhile, was attempting to stand unobtrusively in the corner of the hall, drinking her water, unable to escape as her path was blocked by more pictures.

 

“Isn’t that yellow bit supposed to be on the top?”

 

“Maybe?”  

 

“You’re asking me?”  Win looked in surprise at her partner, “aren’t you sure?”

 

“Not entirely…” Flo turned her head to the side, so she was seeing the ‘yellow bit’ as the the top, “but let’s not worry about that for now,” decided Flo, preparing to move on from the troublesome first picture and see what the other five looked like.

 

“Wait a minute.” Win stood next to Flo and put her arm around her shoulders, knowing what Flo was trying to do.  “If the framers have ruined your picture, you should say so.”

 

“No, that’s not…” Kate watched, fascinated by the ‘battle’ she was starting to see played out, as clearly Win was concerned about Flo being pushed around by the framers and Flo, for some reason, appeared to be somewhat indifferent to the whole thing.  Whilst General Bambera’s determination and near obsession with ‘doing the job well’ was all too familiar to Kate, she’d expected that Flo, as the artist, might have been a bit more emotional about the impact of a potential framing error.  However, when she saw Flo shrug her shoulders, effectively dislodging Win’s arm, Kate found herself in the unexpected position of referee.

 

“Can I ask a question?”

 

“What?  Oh, yes dear.”  Flo shot a pointed look at Win, as if to remind her that they’d been almost arguing in front of ‘company’ that they’d both forgotten about for a moment.  “Ask away.”

 

“Actually, it’s two questions.”  Kate bit her lip as she thought about what she really wanted to know.  “You’re the first artist I’ve really met, properly, but, well, shouldn’t you be more…” Kate searched for a word, only to be beaten to it by Flo.

 

“Hysterical?”

 

“Maybe?” Kate shrugged, taking a sip of her water, uncertain if that was quite what she meant, but loathe to disagree with Flo about her word choice.

 

“It’s abstract art darling, it could be hung any which way apart from inside out!” Flo gestured expansively at the pictures as she said this, her grin and wink suggesting to Kate that there was an element of deliberate ‘downplaying’ of her ability and talents.  “But I should know which way I painted the bloody thing!”

 

“And you think the yellow bit’s at the top?”

 

“Is that your second question?” Thanks to Kate’s gentle intervention, Win was starting to at least understand why Flo was behaving the way she was.

 

“Not really.”  Kate looked over the edge of the painting, seeing where the now infamous ‘yellow bit’ was.  “My second question was to ask why you’d assumed the top was the side parallel to the floor.”

 

“Why do you ask that?” It took a moment of hand gestures for Flo to work out what Kate was actually asking, and even once she’d worked out the meaning of the question, she wasn’t seeing the significance.

 

“Because…” Kate put her glass on the floor and, having trapped the bottom edge of the picture with her foot, used both hands to angle the frame forwards so she could see down it’s back, “based on the stringing, they yellow bit’s at the top.”

 

“Flo love?”

 

“Yes darling?”  

 

“I think we owe Kate dinner for that piece of inspiration.”

 

“Kate?”

 

“Yes Flo?”

 

“You’ll stay for dinner, won’t you?”

 

“Thank you, that’s very kind but…” Whatever else Kate had thought was polite and appropriate to say, her stomach was overruling with a loud, grumbling rumble that clearly indicated that even if Kate had consciously forgotten how she barely picked at her lunch earlier in the day (in part because of the pre gin almonds Flo had sneaked into her), neither her hosts or her stomach had.

 

“Don’t worry, we’ve got plenty to go round!” teased Flo, gesturing for Kate to come and join her in the kitchen whilst she prepared the food.


	5. Friday, 20 August 2004: Fruit and Nut,

“Soak or dishwasher?”

 

“Soak.” Flo surveyed the kitchen, satisfied that all the dishes that could go in the dishwasher were loaded into it.  “Who was the phone call?”

 

“Phone call?”  It took Win a moment to work out what Flo was talking, during which she filled up the sink with hot water and slid the roasting tin into it.  “Oh, before… Tom Osgood.”

 

“The Brig’s Bumbling Boffin?  Isn’t that…”

 

“A coincidence?  Completely.”  Win dried her hands on a tea towel and jerked her head in the direction of the veranda where, wine glass cradled in her hand, Kate was leaning on the railing, looking up at the darkened sky which was displaying an impressive array of stars.  “How do you think she’s doing?”

 

“I don’t know.”  Flo thought about making some comment about ‘not being the one with an ex-husband in her baggage’ but decided against that potentially poor attempt at humour.  “It’s not like we were talking about it during dinner…” Quite the opposite, with Kate steering the conversation towards Flo’s career in the arts world and how she’d ended up halfway up a Swiss valley painting large canvases for corporate clients alongside her ‘experiments’ with clay.

 

“No, I noticed.  Where’s Pip?  I haven’t seen her for hours?”

 

“Your study, where else?”  Flo looked at Win, struggling to follow the random threads of their rather disjointed conversation, “I don’t think that cat has ever really understood who she was supposed to be for.”  Seeing Win opening another bottle of red wine, Flo held her glass out for a refill, “why’d you ask?”

 

“Because Tom Osgood’s daughter is allergic.”  Win concentrated on pouring the wine into both their glasses, “and assuming the evening flight from Heathrow’s on time, she’ll be arriving in a few minutes.”

 

“She will?”  Flo took a long sip of her wine, starting to feel the events of the day catching up on her, reminding her that, at nearer 70 than 60, her body did sometimes weary a tad earlier than it used to.  “I thought Baby Brig didn’t know anyone in Geneva?”

 

“She doesn’t.” Win’s explanation was cut short by the flash of headlights as a car pulled up to their front door, “but as of now she does, at least for the weekend.”  She put her wine glass down.  “I’ll go let her in.”

 

“Do I need to make up a bed?”  As she spoke, Flo was mentally reviewing what state the spare rooms were in, before realising that if Tom Osgood’s daughter had allergies, neither of their guest rooms were going to be appropriate, since of their three cats, Pip was the only one that didn’t consider a bedroom essential.  The other two each had claimed a spare room as ‘theirs’, only begrudgingly sharing it with human guests.

 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves…” 

 

* * *

  
  


“Hello, you must be…” General Bambera’s greeting died on her lips as she was confronted with the unexpected sight of a brunette, wearing glasses and using an inhaler, a leather and canvas satchel hanging from her shoulder and a London Heathrow Duty Free Shopping bag at her feet.  “Tom Osgood’s daughter?” she asked when she could see the person’s face properly.  On seeing her nod and then shake her head in quick succession, Winifred waited on the doorstep until their guest (who definitely was Tom Osgood’s daughter, as not only were they not expecting anyone else to arrive from Heathrow this evening, but she also recognised one of the UNIT drivers waiting to return to Geneva if that was what was wanted) was able to breathe and talk at the same time.

 

“Hello, sorry, you have cats.  Yes, I’m Osgood.”  Osgood shoved her preventative inhaler in her trouser pocket and held out her hand, which Winifred shook automatically.  “Thank you General.”

 

“Winifred’s fine, are you ok to come in?”  She had no idea what she’d just been thanked for, but wasn’t going to embarrass the young woman by asking.

 

“Yes.  Sorry.”  Osgood pulled out her inhaler again, “Dad worries.  I’ll be fine - this should help, and I have another one if I’m sat on,” Osgood saw the General’s eyebrows twitch, “by a cat I meant.”

 

“Unlikely.  Come in.”  Winifred stepped aside and gestured for Osgood to lead on into the hallway, “mind the pictures, my partner’s latest commission,” she added proudly, shutting the front door having discretely gestured for the driver to stay put for the moment.

 

“They’re very…” Osgood turned her head as she looked at the nearest one, trying to see if there was a specific structure or pattern she was supposed to be recognising, “energetic.”

 

“You, my dear, can come again.”

 

“I…” Blinking, Osgood looked up, dislodging her glasses with the rapid movement, “good evening.  You must be Florence.”

 

“That I am, and you are Kate’s friend.”  Flo stood blocking Osgood’s path out of the hallway, causing Osgood, who had now resettled her glasses and put her inhaler back in her trouser pocket, to look at the older woman, who was familiar to her from Kate’s stories of getting used to life in Geneva, carefully.

 

“Yes.  Where is she please?”  Osgood put down her shopping bag and extracted the bottle of Tanqueray Gin that she had bought at the airport, “and this is for you…” she thrust the bottle at Florence, the stiffness of the movement giving away her nervousness, “...a mix of thank you and replenishment.”

 

“You are definitely coming again!” exclaimed Flo, looking from a nervous Osgood to a nervous Win, “and you are in trouble for telling tales to her father!” she teased, wagging her finger at Win in exaggerated mock jest, trying to get a smile or other indication of something other than nervous terror from their visitor.  “This really was quite unnecessary,” she continued, smiling at Osgood before she carefully put the bottle down on the table that served as the ‘useful surface’ in their short hallway, next to car keys, a pair of sunglasses and bottle of worming tablets from the vet. “But a very kind thought, thank you..”  Flo suddenly realised she didn’t actually know what to call Tom Osgood’s daughter.

 

“Osgood, just Osgood.”

 

“Thank you Osgood.”  Florence stepped to the side and gestured behind her, “Kate’s on the veranda, looking at the stars.  She’s…”

 

“Kate,” said Osgood resolutely, knowing without needing to be told that her friend had probably done everything but react emotionally to the confirmation of her divorce.  "Do you mind if I go and talk to her?”

 

“Of course not!”  Win patted Osgood on the back in what she hoped would be interpreted as reassuring or encouraging, “she doesn’t know you’re here, does she?”

 

“Not exactly…”  Outside of Osgood’s line of vision, Win glared at Flo, a glare warning her romantically minded partner to not interrupt.  “I’m sort of invited, but not explicitly.”

 

“I’m sure you’re exactly what she needs,” said Flo carefully, gesturing for Osgood to head into the living room and out onto the veranda beyond.  “Take all the time you need, we’ll be around but out of the way…”

* * *

  
  


Stepping out onto the veranda, Osgood’s boat shoes made no sound as she turned and closed the well oiled patio door behind her.  She was therefore somewhat surprised when, having finished closing the door and taken a couple of steps to a chair which she could put her satchel and shopping on, Kate was still stood by the veranda edge, leaning on the railing and  looking out across the valley to the mountains and starlit sky.

 

No longer encumbered with her bags, Osgood stood with her hands in her pockets, fingers absently fiddling with her inhalers (one in each pocket) and emergency handkerchief (right pocket) as she studied her friend.  As hot as it had been in London for the last couple of days, it had been even hotter on the continent and, despite being almost 10pm and a clear night, Osgood wasn’t feeling uncomfortable in her short sleeved collared t-shirt, and neither was Kate, who seemed to be quite comfortable, temperature wise, in her sleeveless dress.

 

As Osgood waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, with light coming from the moon above and living room table lamps behind her, she watched as Kate drained the last dregs from her wine glass, her hair starting to tumble from the loose bun she’d tucked it into at the office hours earlier.  She’d been so certain that coming to help her friend was the right decision to take, an impulse that didn’t need analysing or questioning, and that confidence had stayed with her right through explaining her ‘crazy’ idea to her father, convincing him to help her find the right airline ticket sales desk and contact Winifred Bambera to find out her address.  Even now, stood only a few feet from Kate, Osgood still felt confident that what she’d done was the right thing as, watching Kate, there was something off, something different about her friend… it was like she was tight, her movements precise and restricted… it wasn’t that she was holding herself together, realised Osgood, who knew that was something Kate had been doing, on many levels and in many different ways, for years in some cases.  It was the stiltedness of someone holding everything in, suppressed and ‘contained’.  It was… not what she wanted her friend to be feeling on any day, never mind this day, after that piece of news.

 

“Don’t worry, I won’t break General.”  Kate’s voice was quiet and, despite being only a few feet from Osgood, sounded distant, like Kate was somehow elsewhere.

 

“What makes you think I’m not Florence?”

 

“I…” Whatever Kate might have been going to say was never said as, a split second after she’d started to answer the question she’d been asked, she registered who had asked it.  Looking over her shoulder, she saw Osgood for the first time.  “You…” she looked at her empty wine glass in suspicion, “are you?”

 

“I’m me.”  Osgood went over to Kate and removed the wineglass from slack fingers, putting it on the table, well out of harm’s way.

 

“But…” Kate’s eyes darted from the wine glass to Osgood to her fingers which she was rubbing together, checking to see if they felt different… that was the problem with drinking after reading that damned report all morning, it made you doubt things were what they looked like.

 

“Me.”  Osgood spoke firmly but kindly, waiting for Kate to look at her again.  “Promise,” she added eventually, when Kate’s confused gaze was focussed once more on her.

 

“Why? I mean how? When?”

 

“Because my friend needed a hug.”  Osgood shrugged, putting her hands back in her pockets, trying to concentrate on not needing her inhaler as she worked out how to explain succinctly.  “My meeting finished early, at Bushy House?”  Seeing no look of recognition, she provided a few more facts.  “NPL building about 6 miles from Heathrow.  It was a meeting with…” Osgood’s face clouded momentarily when she remembered the security checks and searches, “...doesn’t matter who, but I had my passport with me.  You rang me just after I’d finished my ice cream.”

 

“What flavour?”  Still somewhat dazed and shell shocked, Kate grabbed hold of the mundane detail first.

 

“Chocolate.  In a cone.”

 

“You’re really here?”  Kate felt something shift inside her, something that she hadn’t realised had knotted until she felt herself start to undo.

 

“I’m really here.” Osgood held Kate’s gaze with a steady, concerned gaze of her own.

 

“To give me a hug?” Kate felt her lip starting to tremble, so she instinctively caught it between her teeth and clenched her fists, digging her fingernails into her palms.

 

“More than one if you want.”  Osgood shrugged again, before taking her hands out of her pockets and catching hold of Kate’s clenched fists, hoping she could encourage Kate to relax them slightly.  “There’s no duty free limit on hugs,” she joked, pleased when she felt Kate’s fingers unbend.

 

“There isn’t?” Kate’s eyes were blurring, and she knew it had nothing to do with pollen, dust wind or any other excuse that she might have used if it had been anyone other than Osgood stood in front of her.

 

“Nope, I checked.”  Osgood was relieved to see a slight smile appear on Kate’s face despite the obvious sadness that was also there.  “And you know what else doesn’t have a duty free limit?”

 

“What?” Kate couldn’t believe she was having such a silly conversation and yet, as she waited for her friend to tell her what else wasn’t subject to excise rules, she realised that the weight that she hadn’t noticed she’d been carrying on her shoulders was lifting ever so slightly.

 

“Tiddely-poms.”

 

“Really?”  There was something so wonderfully logical about this brilliant scientist being here, just outside Geneva late on this Friday night, talking so seriously about such utter nonsense that, had she still had any doubts, confirmed to Kate how much she had needed her friend, and how completely ‘human’ this moment was.

 

“Really.  But only…” Osgood let go of Kate’s now completely relaxed hands and, repositioning her glasses as she went, nipped back to where she’d left her bag and picked it up, returning to where Kate was stood.  “Only if said under supervision.”

 

“Supervision?  By whom?”  Baffled, Kate was completely captivated by the silliness and utterly absorbed, so absorbed, she failed to notice Win and Flo watching from the kitchen.

 

“What on earth is happening?” asked Flo, all attempts at cleaning the soaking dishes abandoned as they both watched what was happening on the veranda.

 

“Your guess is as good as mine, but she looks a bit…” Win couldn’t work out how to describe Kate.

 

“Less like she’s going to explode?” suggested Flo, fascinated by whatever it was that Osgood had extracted from the duty free shopping bag and was holding in front of her, her body obstructing their view.

 

“Something like that.”  Win watched as Osgood neatly folded the now empty plastic bag and opened her satchel.  “Good heavens, now is not the time to be worrying about littering!”

 

“Definitely an Osgood…” muttered Flo, not disagreeing with her partner but more interested in what else Osgood was clearly preparing to give Kate.  From what she’d learned from Win, it sounded like this was definitely an impulse visit, so it was unlikely that the younger woman had been able to stop off to get anything that couldn’t be sourced at Heathrow.  “What on earth has she got?”  In the darkness, all Flo could see was Osgood pull out something flat and almost but not quite file sized, which she also gave to Kate.

 

“No idea…” Win was in an even worse position to see, but suddenly, it didn’t really matter what Osgood had given Kate as clearly, the cumulative effect of both her presence and presents had done what neither Win nor Flo had managed to do, as they both saw Kate fling her arms around Osgood and her head drop onto Osgood’s shoulder, as evidently, judging by how Osgood sunk back against the table edge, the dam had finally broken and Kate had allowed herself to react to the news of her divorce.

 

“Is that… a teddy bear?” asked Flo finally, knowing she shouldn’t be watching but wanting to solve her final mystery.

 

“Winnie the Pooh,” confirmed Win, turning away from the window and guiding Flo to come away with her, “and Cadbury’s Fruit and Nut.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I have no idea, but that’s not the point.”

 

“What is the point?” asked Flo, grabbing a tea towel to dry her hands on as Win led her through into her study so that Osgood and Kate had some privacy.

 

“It’s what Baby Brig needed, and the Brig’s Bumbling Boffin’s kid was the one that knew it.”  Win looked at Flo who was staring at her in shock, “and no, I’m not saying that again.  Ever.”  She kissed her partner’s cheek as they paused in the study doorway whilst she reached for the lightswitch, “you really must stop with the nicknames…”


	6. Friday, 8 October 2004

Standing in the immigration queue waiting for her turn, Osgood noticed that the advertising boards to her right had changed.  Gone were the welcoming slogans offering the promise of sun-drenched mountain valleys carpeted with wildflowers and the occasional bovine super-model and, in their place were the same welcomes, possibly even the same valleys, but this time covered with snow.  She couldn’t determine if the cows were still on show (she thought not, having a vague memory of learning about cows being ‘brought in for the winter’), but was unable to determine whether her guess was correct as the queue had moved forwards and the three steps forward that she’d taken put her next to a pillar, blocking her view to her left.

 

But not the view to her right, which was still dominated by that smiling woman, her hair perfectly ‘set’ in what was supposed to be a ‘natural’ look that was scientifically impossible.  She was clearly advertising something, but what the product was, Osgood had not been able to work out as there were some unused immigration counters in front of it, obscuring the bottom third of the advertisement which was presumably where the branding was.  Nor had she been able to work out why the woman was smiling - she can’t have been comfortable with that grinning man pressed against her back, his arms presumably holding onto her and whatever it was she was holding or leaning against.

 

It really was most perplexing, thought Osgood, obediently taking another couple of steps forward as more people ahead of her were invited to present themselves in front of the handful of immigration officials on duty this evening.  Presumably an advertisement that large, in the main arrivals immigration hall of Geneva Airport was fairly costly, a cost that was justified if a large number of people saw it.  But surely it was all wasted if it made no sense because what it was advertising was not obvious?  What was the point of creating something which was designed to be seen, impressed by and remembered all in a matter of seconds if only to display it in such a way as to render that impossible? 

 

Chewing her lip as she considered this potential paradox, Osgood’s next shuffle forwards saw her complete a 180 degree ‘U’-turn as she advanced up the snaking queue and she was once more looking at snow-covered mountains and a suitable ‘cliche’ Alpine landscape which, she was now confident, did not contain any bovine representatives. 

 

“Madame?  Deux s’il vous plait.”  The request caught her unawares and distracted her from any further analysis about the significance of the current advertising displays and why they’d changed in the ten days since she’d last been arriving in Geneva. 

 

“Oui.  Merci.”  Nodding, Osgood headed for immigration desk number two, surprised at how quickly she’d got to the front of the queue from her spot, only to absently notice that a further three desks had suddenly been opened (perhaps in response to the relatively long queue that had formed as a result of some delayed flights that should have arrived earlier) and a family of six were clearing immigration together at a single desk… and taking up a lot of floor space in the process.

 

Moments later, she was ‘welcomed to Switzerland’ and through immigration.  Since she was travelling with hand luggage only, she was quickly through Baggage Reclaim and Customs too, and heading for the train station.  The train journey into central Geneva was only a few minutes long, and in what Osgood realised was her new ‘personal best’ time, she was soon heading to her hotel.

 

* * *

 

 

Kate paused, her pen in mid air as she automatically waited to see if her mobile phone would noisily buzz a third time.  She’d discovered that leaving the ringing function turned on was disastrous as invariably, she forgot to silence it when she was in a meeting, but the noise it made as it vibrated on the surface of her desk was distracting enough without being startling.  Two buzzes meant a text message, three meant it was a phone call, and if it got to five she wouldn’t bother trying to answer it as it would have diverted the caller to the voicemail system before she could answer.

 

When no third buzz came, Kate refocused on her sentence and continued reviewing and rewriting the document which would, in its final form, be issued as operational later that month across UNIT.  At least, she maintained her focus until the end of the paragraph….

 

Putting aside her pen, she reached for her phone whilst absently rubbing the back of her neck with her left hand.  Blinking, she attempted to shift the fuzzy feeling from her eyes without rubbing them - the memory of trying to stop Gordy rubbing his eyes red when he was tired as a small child was too fresh still.  When that didn’t work, she gave in and gently rubbed them and yawned, a glance at the good-sized wall clock on her office telling her it was late enough that she could excuse her eyes being tired as it was rather late on a Friday at the end of a long week.  Eyes refocused and feeling generally more alert, Kate opened the text message before reaching for her desk phone and dialling a number.

  
  


Drying her hands on the white towel, Osgood returned to the bedroom and looked around for the telephone which, as was always the case, was on the far side of the bed.  Tossing the hand towel on the bed as she walked around it, Osgood started counting the rings, hoping that there wouldn’t be a voicemail cutting in too quickly.

 

“Four…” She kept count by muttering under her breath as she made for the phone.

 

“Five… ow…” Wincing, she sort of shuffle hopped to the bedside table and picked up the phone, “hello?”

 

“Hello, wait...are you alright?”  Kate listened carefully as she waited for Osgood’s reply, not sure what was ‘off’ but extremely confident her friend was not sounding completely fine.

 

“What?  Yes, fine.”  Osgood sat down carefully and tentatively flexed her knee, methodically prodding all around her kneecap with determined fingers.  “Ow…”

 

“You don’t sound fine…”  Kate smiled as she ran her fingers through her hair and started to rub her neck, fairly satisfied that her friend wasn’t in grave or mortal danger but finding her attempts at reassurance amusingly insignificant.

 

“I caught my knee on the end of the bed.”

 

“How?”  Kate frowned, trying to work out what she’d been doing to get such an injury, “when?”

 

“Just now.”  Having just found the really tender spot, Osgood started to rub it, before stopping herself, realising that was illogical.  “The phone is on the far side of the bed...and I might have misjudged where the corner was.”

 

“I’m sure it jumped,” joked Kate, relieved that the ‘injury’ wasn’t more serious.  “Far side?”  Kate tried to picture the ‘average’ hotel room, “how big’s the bed?” And, wondered a traitorous little voice that she hadn’t heard in a very long time, what motivated you to book a room with such a huge bed in the first place?

 

“Usual hotel room size, but I was in the bathroom.”  Osgood ignored the little voice that was starting to cheer in her ear at the hint of  _ something  _ that almost certainly was imagined to be in Kate’s voice.  “Why are hotel towels always white?” 

 

“What?”  Kate was wrong-footed by the change of subject before recovering her ‘balance’.  “I…” she thought for a moment.  “I suppose it’s for the same sort of reason restaurants have white tablecloths and napkins.  Easier to launder.”

 

“How are white fabrics easier to launder?” Satisfied her knee was merely surprised rather than damaged, Osgood started rearranging the pillows so she could lean up against the headboard and stretch her legs out in front of her.  “They show every mark!”

 

“Unless you bleach them… plus it stops them needing to worry about keeping them in sets I guess.  Unlike black socks.”

 

“What about black socks?” Bleaching Osgood could understand - it explained why she generally needed an extra puff of her preventative inhaler before she lay down on a hotel pillow, but the socks?  She wasn’t following Kate’s logic.

 

“Into the wash go seven pairs of black socks, out of the wash come fourteen socks in fourteen distinct shades of not-quite-black, more-grey.”  If there was one aspect of laundry Kate hated even more than ironing, it was pairing up socks.

 

“Gordy’s a teenager, he won’t notice or care.”  Osgood looked at her own feet, which were sporting her favourite sort of woolly sock, pointing and flexing them as if to confirm they were hers and did still move on request.  “And I see what you mean, coloured towels would be a mess.”  Osgood remembered her own navy blue towels, hanging on her towel rail at home, “in a hotel I mean, where there’s lots of sets.  Coloured towels are good at home, mine are navy blue,” she finished at a rush, concerned in case Kate had taken offense to her statement.

 

“Breathe…” teased Kate, “I knew what you meant.  Mine are pale blue.”

 

“I thought yours were…” Osgood repositioned her glasses so they were resting more comfortably on her nose as she tried to remember what colour towels Kate had when she’d visited last month.  “Cream?”

 

“They were, but I bought some new ones last week.”  Along with bed linen, thought Kate but she kept that to herself, not wanting to ‘overshare.’  “I felt like a change and…” she paused, wondering if she should continue or whether Osgood would mock her.

 

“And cream towels against white tiles was irritating you.”

 

“Yes!”  Kate sat back in her desk chair and stretched again, beginning to recognise that her desire to work was completely gone and she should just go home.  “How did you know?”

 

“Because it was irritating me,” admitted Osgood quietly, before continuing, “but pale blue’s good.”  She thought about the bathroom in Kate’s flat that she’d seen when she’d been helping her to unpack the final boxes before Kate became too used to living around the boxes and they were never unpacked.  “It will match your toothbrush.”

 

“It…” Kate was about to deny that was the reason before she realised that Osgood was absolutely correct - her bathroom was completely devoid of colour (white tiles, white bathroom fittings, white tiled floor) apart from her toothbrush, which was sitting on the basin, and was two tone blue with white and blue bristles.  “...will.  I hope I can get blue toothbrushes here, I haven’t brought a spare one with me.”

 

“I’ll post you one if it’s difficult.”  Osgood caught herself unawares with a yawn.  “Sorry…”

 

“Don’t be, you’ve had a long day, but I’m glad you’ve arrived safely.”  Kate started tidying her desk.  “And I should go home too.”

 

“You’re still at the office?”  It still surprised Kate when she heard Osgood ask that question - her voice was only ever conveying curiosity, never condemnation or suspicion, just gentle acceptance and interest.

 

“Reviewing the neverending report.”  Kate stood up, determined to not pack her briefcase with work for the weekend but to instead plan to do no work whatsoever and instead look forward to enjoying her friend’s company again.  “But your arrival has saved me, so I shall go home.  Can I cook breakfast for us tomorrow?”

 

“That would be lovely, but we need to leave about 9.30…” Osgood mentally checked her timetable for their day out tomorrow, “...if that’s ok?”

 

“Fine!”  Compared to when they were both leaving their respective homes for their journeys to work, 9.30 was a wonderfully late start to the day, as befitted a Saturday.  “Won’t you tell me anything more about tomorrow’s plan?”  As a general rule, Kate was not a fan of surprises, but she was a fan of puzzles that she hadn’t solved yet, and this enabled there to be a way to keep something a secret from Kate in a way that didn’t irritate or frustrate her.  

 

“Not unless you’re saying you admit defeat and can’t work it out?”

 

“Never!” Kate might have hated games at school, but that wasn’t the same as not being competitive.  She would rather let herself be surprised than admit defeat with a puzzle or riddle, but there was nothing in Osgood’s ‘rules’ that stopped her asking a question to help with breakfast planning.  “In terms of breakfast…”

 

“Yes?”  Osgood checked her feet still flexed and rotated on command whilst she waited for the question.

 

“Does it need to be hearty?”

 

“Hearty?”  Osgood wasn’t entirely sure what a non-hearty cooked breakfast comprised, as ‘hearty’ and ‘cooked’ were synonymous in the Osgood household when she’d been growing up.  “As in cooked?”

 

“Hearty as in sustaining us through a morning of physical exertion…”

 

“A morning of what?”  Osgood knew her cheeks were warm and that if she didn’t continue reciting the Group 18 elements in her head (Noble Gases, remarkable for their low reactivity in standard conditions) she’d probably continue babbling.

 

“Marching me up mountains or something.”  Pride meant that Kate didn’t immediately ask ‘what did you think I meant?’ but instead tried to puzzle her way to an answer of her own.  She’d just eliminated all forms of homophonic confusion when Osgood started talking again, causing her to pause in her puzzling.

 

“Oh, you meant something outdoors.”  Osgood cleared her throat and repositioned her glasses.  “Hearty would be good.”

 

“So we’re going to be outside?”

 

“You knew that already…” Feeling like she was a little more in control, Osgood relaxed enough to start teasing again, “...or have you forgotten already?”

 

“I haven’t forgotten…” And she hadn’t, well, not until Osgood had distracted her by differentiating between indoor and outdoor physical exertion.  “Tomorrow is something I haven’t done but said I wanted to,” Kate began counting off the ‘hints’ she already had been given about their day out tomorrow. “Something you said would need a whole day so was not going to combine with unpacking boxes, and that it was best done before it got too cold.”  Kate knew there was another ‘hint’ but she couldn’t immediately remember it, so bought herself some time to think by adding, “I think that was just to force me to finish unpacking!”

 

“Is that you admitting you’d still be living out of boxes then?”

 

“No…”  Kate finished shuffling her papers into a neat stack and put them in her desk drawer, “...at least, not for day to day things.  Have I said thank you for the help?”

 

“Repeatedly, and with cake.”  Osgood frowned, “have I thanked you for the cake?”

 

“With flowers.  They were lovely.”  It was Kate’s turn to frown as she tried to remember, “wait, I did…”

 

“Thank me for the flowers?  Yes.”  Osgood grinned, “but you didn’t need to do so in writing.”

 

“We’re going to be the sort of people that send thank you notes for the thank you notes, aren’t we?”

 

“I was thinking text message.”  Osgood felt another yawn coming and tried to suppress it so that Kate wouldn’t hear.

 

“That was a yawn.”

 

“No it wasn’t.”

 

“Os…”  Kate had tidied up her desk as much as she needed to and was now as ready to leave for home as she could be whilst still ‘attached’ to her desk phone.  “A squashed yawn is still a yawn.”

 

“It wasn’t squashed, it was swallowed.”  Osgood thought about what Kate had said, “actually, how would you squash a yawn?”

 

“I have no idea,” laughed Kate, amused that of everything she’d just said, the mechanics of how to ‘squash’ a yawn was the point Osgood was now focussed on, and yet not surprised.

 

“Some biologist you are,” mock-grumbled Osgood, usually not particularly adept at teasing others, or particularly keen on being teased herself.

 

“You can explain to yourself how an anatomist and a biologist are not interchangeable terms whilst I get my things together and go home,” negotiated Kate, knowing that Osgood describing Kate as a ‘biologist’ was more of a nickname than an actual attempt at describing her speciality.

 

“Okay.” As much as she enjoyed talking to Kate, Osgood was aware she was feeling tired and if she wanted to be at Kate’s for breakfast and to still be heading off for their day out at 9.30, then she had to get a few things done first.  Also, now she was reminded that Kate was still at her desk, Osgood definitely didn’t want to prolong Kate’s time in her office.

 

“Any request for breakfast?”

 

“Can you make pancakes?”

 

“Thick and fluffy or thin and Shrove Tuesday-ish?”

 

“Thick and fluffy, if possible?”

 

“Done.  Thick and fluffy pancakes for breakfast.”  Kate cast her eye over her desk one final time, satisfied that there was nothing on it that shouldn’t be left out over the weekend.  “Is 8 too early?” 

 

“No, that’s perfect.  Thank you.”  Osgood yawned and this time, made no attempt to deny it.  “Good night Kate.”

 

“Night Os… see you tomorrow morning.”

 

Returning the receiver to the cradle, Kate stood up and retrieved her blazer from the back of her chair.  Putting it on, she noticed she’d left her mobile on the desk, next to her computer keyboard, so she scooped it up and put it in her blazer pocket.  Satisfied that everything was as it should be, she picked up her briefcase-cum-handbag and, enjoying how light it was now it contained no weekend paperwork, she headed for her office door, pausing to put on her raincoat.

 

As she shut her office door and headed through the open-plan section of the office to the lifts, she felt her mobile phone vibrate in her blazer pocket.  Waiting for the lift to arrive, she pulled out her phone and read her text message.

 

“All poodles are dogs, but not all dogs are poodles… said the physicist to the biologist.  I’m almost asleep. See you tomorrow. Os.”

 

Laughing, Kate stepped into the lift and started to type her reply, pressing send when she stepped out into the lobby before dropping her phone into her raincoat pocket and heading out of the UNIT office building.  She had a home to get to and a weekend to look forward to.


	7. Saturday, 9 October 2004: Breakfast

“I’m coming!”  Kate tossed the tea towel in the general direction of the counter as she headed from the small kitchenette that took up one side of the apartment’s living room to the front door.  “Hi.”  She stood with the door open, her right foot resting on top of her left, the door trapped open with her knee.

 

“I’m early.”  Osgood looked guilty - the offer of breakfast had seemed wonderful last night but now, at 7.57am on Saturday morning, she was starting to feel like she was imposing on Kate’s good nature.

 

“Hardly.” Kate gestured for Osgood to come in as she continued to attempt to reassure her, “I wasn’t expecting you to walk around the block until the clock chimed…”  Kate took Osgood’s light jacket from her and hung it on the coat hook that was next to the now closed front door.  “Wait…” Kate turned back to look at Osgood thoughtfully, wondering why she was looking so uncomfortable before asking softly, “how many times did you walk around the block this morning?”

 

“Three… I was very early.”  Osgood was certain her cheeks were flaming red and she looked at the floor, her hands fidgeting with her scarf which she’d been half way through removing when Kate had asked her question.

 

“Os?”

 

“Mmm?”  There was something in the tone of Kate’s question that made her look up, although her expression was full of apprehension.

 

“You don’t need to walk around the block next time, just knock.”

 

“But…”

 

“No buts.”  Kate put her hand out to encourage Osgood to head towards the kitchen area of the small apartment as she continued to explain.  “Just arrive and ring the bell, no matter how early you might be…” Kate chewed on her lower lip as she considered how their breakfast was doing, deciding it could cope without her attentions for a moment longer without coming to harm, “promise?” she asked, looking at the still nervous Osgood, who was still clutching her scarf in front of her, reminding Kate of an early attempt at ‘Hide and Seek’ she’d played with Gordy.

 

“Promise.”  Osgood smiled tentatively and canted her head, blinking determinedly as she studied Kate, “what are you remembering?” she asked, her nerves about being early forgotten, replaced instead with a curiosity about what was causing that particular look from Kate - it was a mix of wistful and happy.

 

“What? Oh, nothing really…” Startled, Kate tried to dismiss the question, “orange juice, coffee or both?”

 

“Both please,” Osgood put the scarf on the back of a chair and looked encouragingly at Kate, “and it wasn’t nothing…” she repositioned her glasses with her left hand before straightening her shirt cuff that had become caught on her watch, “...it was about Gordy, when he was little?”

 

“How did you know?”  Kate hoped she covered her surprise by going to the fridge and getting out the orange juice, the coffee already brewing in the cafetiere.

 

“You look…” Osgood put her hands in the pockets of her trousers to stop her fidgeting, “...a sort of happy sad, but I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything,” she rushed out, feeling awkward and embarrassed that she’d overstepped and misspoken.

 

“Don’t apologise!” Kate turned around, orange juice carton forgotten in mid air somewhere between fridge and counter, only for the weight of it to force Kate to look back and realise she was still holding it, although that was easily dealt with as she plonked it on the counter and, hands free, turned back to Osgood.  “I  _ was  _ thinking about Gordy actually,” she smiled and nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before leaning back against the counter and slipping her fingers into her jeans pockets, “and I don’t mind you asking, really…”  she waited until Osgood was looking at her before she continued her explanation, “I was just surprised that you’d guessed.  And you're right, I suppose I was ‘sort of happy sad’, but mainly happy.”  

A slight hint of a burning smell prompted her to reach out and turn down the heat under one of the pans that was on the hob, before she slipped her hand back in her pocket and looked back at Osgood to continue her explanation.  “It was the way you were holding your scarf, with both hands and in front of you…” Kate frowned, not sure she’d properly explained what she meant, so glancing to her left, she snatched up the tea towel she’d discarded in order to answer the door and demonstrated what she meant, with the tea towel held loosely in front of her at about waist height.  “It reminded me of playing hide and seek with him…” she tossed the tea towel aside and braced herself against the counter, smiling as she described the memory, “...he’d grasped that he needed to hide while I counted, but not very well.  He had this blanket and he was holding it in front of him, just like you were holding the scarf.”  Kate’s smile changed into a full blown grin as she remembered her ‘little boy’ as a three year old, stood with the blanket that she’d used to create a ‘play area’ for him on the floor of the narrowboat, looking around for somewhere to hide before, oblivious to his mother watching him through her fingers as she counted, carefully placing it over his head and sitting down exactly where the he usually played with his toys.

 

“Did he hide under it?”  Despite her nervousness, Osgood was enjoying hearing Kate explain about a toddler-aged Gordy and finding the blonde’s grin infectious.

 

“Yes!”  Kate was relieved to see Osgood relaxing again.  “Anyway, that was what I was remembering…” Kate shrugged as she spoke, before pushing herself away from the counter and turning to look at the pan which had the bacon in it, satisfied it was nicely crispy but not burned, “...pancakes and bacon ok?”

 

* * *

 

“Are you sure I don’t need to bring anything?”

“If by ‘anything’ you mean food then no.”  Osgood stood patiently by Kate’s front door, nicely full of a wonderful breakfast, waiting for Kate to double check the windows that needed to be locked were locked.  “But your passport might be a good idea.”

“My passport?”  Kate’s head appeared in her bedroom doorway.

“Just in case,” shrugged Osgood, trying to look indifferent under Kate’s scrutiny.

“Ok.”  Smiling, Kate disappeared back into her bedroom to retrieve her passport.  In London such a suggestion would have been strange, but it was something she was starting to get used to after living ‘full time’ in Geneva for the last five months.  Whilst she lived and worked on the Swiss side, France was only a short walk away.  “Anything else not food?” Kate returned with her passport in hand and looked at Osgood thoughtfully, “I was planning on wearing that coat,” she said, gesturing towards a fleece lined lightweight parka that would provide the protection from wind and rain that Osgood’s other hints had suggested she would need, “and I can walk for miles in these,” she continued, gesturing to her hiking boots that, now she considered her friend’s feet, were almost identical to the ones Osgood was wearing.

“House keys?”  Kate stuck out her tongue in response to that suggestion, knowing from the way Osgood had said it she wasn’t actually expecting Kate to need prompting on that, causing Osgood to chuckle.

“In which case…” Kate met Osgood at her front door, jacket in hand, “...ready.”

“Great.”  Osgood picked up her rucksack, which she’d put on the floor just inside the front door when she’d arrived.

“We’re taking turns with that,” said Kate, opening the door and eying the backpack critically.  “You’re supposed to be my guest, not my pack mule.”

“We’ll see.”  Osgood stepped out into the hallway, giving Kate the space to check that the front door was locked to her satisfaction.  “It’s not heavy.”

“That,” said Kate in a tone of voice Osgood identified as being the voice Kate probably used to keep Gordy in line, “is not the point.”

“Ok, you can carry it later,” agreed Osgood easily, repositioning her glasses as she spoke.  “After lunch.”

“And when is lunch?” Kate pocketed her neat bunch of keys as she asked the question, before gesturing to Osgood to set off to the apartment block’s lifts.

“You ate four pancakes and you’re thinking about lunch already?”

“The timing of lunch,” elaborated Kate, absently noticing how she didn’t tense when Osgood picked up on how much breakfast she had eaten - she hadn’t mentioned it as a criticism, just a fact, proof that she’d noticed… but in a paying attention sort of way, not a scrutinising sort of way.  “I don’t want to agree to letting you carry the backpack until lunch if you’re planning a late lunch.  That wouldn’t be….” Kate thought for a moment about what word to use, “...chivalrous.”

“Chivalrous?”  Osgood stepped into the lift and looked at Kate for an explanation - that wasn’t the word she had been expecting from the blonde.

“You’re supposed to be my guest and yet you’ve done all the work so far.”

“Ah.  Don’t worry.”  Osgood looked down and realigned the ends of her scarf so that they were symmetric, “I think reading a few railway timetables and checking a weather forecast is cancelled out by cooking breakfast.”

“So we’re going by train somewhere?” Kate’s eyes lit up at a new ‘hint’ and she chewed on her lip, deep in thought as the lift doors opened.

“Yes.”  Osgood set off for the street, knowing Kate would catch her up in a moment when she realised how insignificant that ‘clue’ was.

“Wait…” Osgood stood, silently holding the door open as Kate strode across the lobby to catch up, “...this is Switzerland.  Of course a day out involves the train....”

“Yup,” Osgood shrugged as she followed Kate out into the street, falling into step alongside the blonde as she instinctively headed in the direction of the train station, “and I bet it’s on time too.”

“You know that’s a myth,” teased Kate, catching hold of Osgood’s arm so she could be ‘steered’ without Osgood having to repeatedly issue directions aloud.  Osgood looked down at Kate’s hand tucked in her elbow, “you mind?” Kate was suddenly nervous, wondering if she’d done the wrong thing.

“No…”  Osgood looked back up at the pavement in front of them, hoping her feelings didn’t show in her face, “I don’t mind at all…” she repeated, confirming her opinion by tucking her elbow a little more tightly into her side, trapping Kate’s hand firmly in the crook of her elbow.  “Have you been to Lausanne yet?”

“We’re going to Lausanne?”  Kate tried to sound sufficiently excited by the idea.  It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go to Lausanne at some point (she did, it was on her list of places to get to whilst she was based in Geneva), it just, for some reason, wasn’t what she’d imagined doing with Osgood given the build up they’d both found themselves giving this weekend visit.

“We’re changing trains in Lausanne…”  Osgood saw that the traffic lights had just changed, giving pedestrians an opportunity to cross an otherwise busy junction, “...come on, we’ve got a green man!”  


	8. Saturday, 9 October 2004: Hot Chocolate

“It’s platform 6 apparently,” said Kate, seeing Osgood approaching with a cardboard take-away coffee cup in each hand, gesturing to the large departure board that stretched across the wall of Lausanne station’s main concourse.

 

“Ah, ok.”  Osgood held out the cup that was in her right hand.  “It’s either a coffee or a hot chocolate...”  She shrugged, looking a little embarrassed, “I wasn’t sure what you were in the mood for, and I can’t remember which way round they gave them to me.”

 

“Coffee Roulette then?” joked Kate, accepting the offered cup, not minding either way.  “Thanks.”

 

“No problem.”  Osgood smiled as, right hand now free, she reached into her trouser pocket and extracted their train tickets for the next train.  “You’ll need this,” she passed Kate one of the tickets and looked expectantly at the blonde, “shall we?”

 

“We shall,” agreed Kate, double checking the departure board once more, “it was the Villeneuve train you said we were getting?”

 

“Yes, from platform 6,” confirmed Osgood, glancing at the printed ticket which she’d had posted to her in England when she’d made the booking a fortnight earlier.

 

“You already knew?” As she asked the question, Kate once again tucked her hand into the crook of her friend’s left elbow, telling herself firmly she was holding on to Osgood so her sometimes overly thoughtful friend didn’t get swept away from Kate as they navigated through the crowds of weekend travellers who, unlike their commuting cousins, couldn’t be relied upon to stick to a steady pace across the station concourse.

 

“Mmm, it was printed on the tickets…” Osgood stopped talking as they arrived at the ticket barriers at the end of platform 6, before resuming her explanation once they were on the relatively calm platform, “...but I wasn’t sure it was right, I mean…”  she stumbled to a stop, realising she’d just been rather rude about the somewhat legendary Swiss Railways.

 

“It’s not exactly Waterloo in rush hour, is it?” Kate grinned when Osgood looked at her, surprised.  “I remember commuting in London… I think I was lucky to get a platform announcement more than five minutes before the train was due to leave.”

 

“It’s not changed much…” Osgood consulted her ticket again and consequently missed Kate’s sharp look that was nearly followed with a sarcastic comment about only leaving London six months ago, which was hardly in the age of steam, “...here we are.”  Osgood stopped by the door and gestured for Kate to proceed her onto the train, “No upstairs this time.”

 

“Definitely not Waterloo,” declared Kate, all thoughts of being sarcastic going as fast as they’d almost arrived, instead smiling warmly at her friend as she let go of her arm and obediently led the way onto the train.  She was slightly disappointed that she wasn’t getting to repeat what had, on their train from Geneva, been a definite first for her by setting off up the stairs to the upper deck, with this train being a more ‘conventional’ single-storey version.  “How’s this?” she said a moment later, coming to a stop by the two ‘airline style’ seats like they’d sat in previously, “you should have the window.”

 

“Nope, you should take the window.  It’s what the reservation is for.” It was one of the many odd quirks of online train booking systems, being able to make a seat reservation for a train that had no reservable seats.

 

“I’m sure it’s not binding,” began Kate, trying to work out how to defeat Osgood’s logic, “and you’re supposed to be my guest.”  Kate’s second attempt at trying to apologise for not being a particularly good ‘host’ had taken a good portion of the 40 minute train journey from Geneva to Lausanne and been as spectacularly unsuccessful as her initial attempt as they left her apartment.

 

“Who doesn’t mind,” repeated Osgood, gently shoving Kate into the seats so that they could both step out of the aisle to let other passengers pass them, “and knows this is your only opportunity to have the window seat.”  Deciding she’d said all that needed to be said on the topic, Osgood trapped her ticket between her lips so that she had a free hand to use to wiggle out of the rucksack without upsetting her coffee.

 

“I’m not going to win, am I?” asked Kate, rescuing Osgood’s ticket from her mouth and taking hold of her coffee cup so that Osgood could use both hands to neatly tuck the rucksack in the small luggage space under the seat in front of them and take off her jacket, which was quickly folded tidily and placed in her lap.

 

“Thanks.”  Osgood took both tickets and slipped them back into her pocket before holding both coffees so Kate could take off her own coat, “and no.  You’re always going to give Gordy the window seat, so this is your chance.”

 

“Thank you,” Kate took back her coffee cup and sat down, watching Osgood follow suit and sit down in the aisle seat just as the train doors closed, signalling their imminent departure.  “For everything,” she added, raising her drink in a tribute toast-like gesture.

 

“You’re welcome.”  Osgood mirrored Kate’s gesture with her own cup, “and it’s my pleasure,” she added, pleased to see what she could only think to describe as genuine joy showing on her friend’s face which was a welcome and marked improvement on recent months.

 

“Mmm…” Kate took a thoroughly satisfying sip of her drink, only to feel Osgood watching her, “what?” she asked, resisting the urge to rub the tip of her nose clear of cream as the cup’s lid had made that impossible.

 

“Nothing…” Osgood’s smile was rather enigmatic as she watched Kate take another, more restrained sip of her drink, not looking away from Osgood who was apparently content to hold her coffee rather than drink it.

 

“Oh, wait.  You wanted the hot chocolate...” Kate’s mortification made her cheeks colour as blushing, she looked at the cup she’d been drinking from which now had a couple of small milky marks around the sip-hole and started to fidget.

 

“No, it’s…” Seeing that words weren’t going to be enough to reassure the blonde, Osgood put her hand on Kate’s knee, which did at least stop Kate’s left leg bouncing.  “It’s fine,” repeated Osgood, lightly tickling Kate’s knee which didn’t make the blonde laugh (Kate was disappointingly non-ticklish) but did distract Kate from staring at the cup.  “I’m not just saying that,” continued Osgood, removing her hand from Kate’s knee so that she could reposition her glasses more comfortably on her nose and, in the process, drawing Kate’s focus up to her face as watchful brown eyes followed the movement of Osgood’s hand, “promise.”  She took a steady sip of the coffee, smiling as she tasted actually tasted the shot of espresso that had formed the base of the drink before the hot milk had been added.  “If I read the sign correctly, they used Guatemalan coffee beans.”  She took another sip, “and I don’t think I’ve tried them before.”

 

“And?” Kate’s nervousness was forgotten, as momentarily was her hot chocolate as she was instead focussed on Osgood’s opinion on the coffee.

 

“It’s coffee,” shrugged Osgood, grinning with amusement, “with lots of milk and some chocolate.”  Seeing Kate’s concerns returning, she continued slightly more seriously, “it’s a very drinkable drink…” Kate’s laugh interrupted her, “...you know what I mean!” continued Osgood, once the rather  _ unique _ if rarely heard sound of her friend’s genuine amusement had subsided.

 

“Sorry…” Sheepish was not an expression that came naturally to Kate, but she could not be faulted in her attempt, “...would it help if I said how very chocolatey this hot chocolate is?”

 

“Yes.”  Osgood was firmly of the opinion she hadn’t pouted since she’d stopped believing in the tooth fairy, not that Kate would ever suggest otherwise… or mention how cute she thought Osgood looked as she pouted.

 

“This is a very chocolatey hot chocolate,” said Kate carefully, trying not to laugh as she did so, “would you like to try some?”

 

“Would you like to try some of the coffee?” 

 

They swapped cups and, watching each other with faces that were struggling to contain their amusement at their shared silliness, took careful sips.

 

“It’s…” Osgood held the cup in front of her, looking at it thoughtfully.

 

“Chocolatey?”

 

“Creamy,” said Osgood firmly, refusing to take the bait.  “How about the coffee?”

 

“It’s…” Kate took another sip, trying to come up with something, anything other than ‘coffee-y’.

 

“Yes?”

 

“It’s…” Kate knew that Osgood knew what she was struggling to avoid, and was almost ready to resort to sticking her tongue out when she realised what she could say, “chocolatey.”

 

“Funny…” Osgood pointedly took a long sip of the hot chocolate, triggering some more laughter from Kate.

 

“I’m sorry.”  This time, rather than being a nervous apology, Kate remained relaxed and at ease as she spoke, “did you want the coffee back?”

 

“Do you want the hot chocolate back?”

 

“This is where you point out you were and still are happy to drink either, isn’t it?”

 

“Pretty much,” agreed Osgood, looking past Kate at the landscape which was slowing down, indicating they were approaching a stop.

 

“Is this us?” asked Kate, taking another sip of her coffee as she shifted slightly in her seat so she could look out of the window.

 

“No.”  Osgood knew from how long this section of their journey was supposed to take that they couldn’t be at their destination yet although, as the station name became readable, she was surprised that they were further along the line than she’d thought.  “But we’ve already missed a couple of stops.”

 

“Oh.”  Kate turned back from the window, intending to ask her friend where they were going, only to be distracted by the line’s route map, which was above the windows on both sides of the carriage.  “Wait,” she mentally reviewed all the ‘hints’ she had been given, as well as her wish-list of places to see whilst she was living in Geneva, studying the names of the stations along the line as she thought.  “Are we going to Castle Chillon?” 

 

“Yes.”  Osgood was relieved to see Kate look happy at the thought, although she was surprised at how long she’d waited before she’d attempted to guess or demanded to know what their destination was.  “Well, sort of.”  Nerves made Osgood reposition her glasses - if she hadn’t been holding her coffee with one hand, she would have taken them off and started to clean them.

 

“Sort of?”  Kate sipped her coffee in an attempt to conceal her own nervousness - how did she react if it turned out Osgood wanted to spend all day touring the dungeons?

 

“I, that is… I mean…”  Osgood saw that they were pulling away from another station - there wasn’t really any time left, and what was the worst that could happen?  An immediate return train trip to Geneva and a weekend spent catching up on her research reading in her hotel room?  Taking a deep breath and trying not to think about using her inhaler no matter how wheezy she thought she was about to get, Osgood focussed on a point somewhere to the left of Kate’s elbow and garbled, “I-don’t-like-old-castle-type-buildings-much-but-will-go-round-it-if-that’s-what-you-want-to-do.”

 

“Os…”  Kate tried to get her friend to look up at her, “Os…” Kate managed to coax Osgood to look at her, but rather than seeing the calm, confident face she’d become accustomed to seeing, she instead saw the tell-tale wrinkling of her friend’s forehead.  “Breathe…” encouraged Kate, making a conscious effort to relax her own breathing into a steady, regular rhythm that Osgood could start to try to pace herself against.  “And again…” She smiled in what she hoped was a calming and reassuring way as she took the cardboard cup from Osgood’s slack fingers and put both of them on the floor by her foot.  “That’s it...Do you want your inhaler?”

 

Osgood shook her head, not wanting to take her inhaler, however Kate wasn’t so easily fooled.

 

“Do you need your inhaler?”  Her perceptiveness was rewarded with a glare, followed by another shake of her head - Osgood was starting to feel more in control again.

 

“Ok.  I won’t badger,” agreed Kate, knowing that Osgood was a level-headed and sensible woman, who had been managing her asthma for far longer than Kate had known her.  “But I’m allowed to be concerned,” she added, feeling like she needed to explain herself.

 

“Thank…” Osgood took another careful breath, “You…”  Another couple of breaths confirmed what she’d thought, that the risk had passed and her lungs were settling again, prompting her to be a bit bolder in her attempt at combining breathing with talking, “for being you.”

 

“I don’t know how to be anyone else.”  And that, realised Kate, was what had so often been the problem.  Whatever situation she found herself in, whoever it was with, invariably at some point it all started to crumble around her as it became apparent she wasn’t the right ‘fit’ and she couldn’t mould or shape herself so as to properly fit in.  It was why she’d fallen out with her mother during her teenage years and progressively become more and more distant as neither her or her mother knew what to say to each other, not even managing to write anything meaningful in the obligatory Birthday and Christmas cards that were still diligently exchanged each year.  It was why she’d not fallen ‘in’ with her father until relatively recently - she had seen him only in ‘squares’ whereas she was everything that wasn’t uniforms and ‘establishment’ and ‘convention’, except now she was starting to see that maybe he wasn’t all that ‘square’, that underneath the facade that the uniforms and conventions had created was someone far more similar to her than she’d realised until she’d found him, found herself. 

 

The one exception had always been Gordy - so far they'd always fit.  Admittedly for all the trials and tribulations of toddler-sized tantrums, she wasn’t naive enough to think his teenage years were going to pass by without any incident, but she had faith.  Based on her own experiences, she’d vowed never to presume that she was entitled to her child’s love and friendship, but had always endeavoured to earn it, not with bribes and tricks but with constancy no matter what around them changed, security no matter what new threats and dangers intruded on their daily lives, respect for him when others seemed intent only on dismissing and patronising, reason when all he could see was chaos.  And, so far, she’d been richly rewarded, with Gordy growing up as a fine young man whose interest in the world was limited only by his pragmatic respect for the dangers he was beginning to understand it contained, an understanding he was so far, unconcerned about sharing with his mother which, at fourteen, was apparently close to miraculous.

 

For all her small attempts at rebellion over the years, she was actually not that different after all… she was a Lethbridge-Stewart, ‘daughter of the Brigadier’, she was part of UNIT or maybe UNIT was part of her, not that it mattered... she was done trying to be someone else… she was Kate, Gordy’s mother, she was...beginning to feel like she was finally somewhere she 'fit'.

 

“Good.”  Osgood’s assertion pulled Kate back from her thoughts.  “I don’t know how to be anyone else either,” she said carefully, her breathing definitely back under control, “although I have to try sometimes.”  Osgood looked at Kate as she repositioned her glasses, “quite a lot actually.”

 

“Not with me you don’t,” said Kate, only to realise that she might be basing her thinking on an errant assumption, “have you been trying? With me?”

 

“Trying to what?”  Osgood forced herself to not succumb to the sudden feeling of panic Kate’s question triggered.  Did this mean she’d noticed? Was that a good thing? Or a bad thing?  Osgood was concentrating so much on trying not to panic about what Kate’s question might or might not mean that she almost missed Kate’s answer.

 

“Trying to be someone different.”  Kate risked a playful tweak of Osgood’s scarf, accidentally shifting the balance of fabric so that the ends would now be uneven.

 

“Not like that.” Osgood was distracted by the name of the station that they’d just come to a stop at.  “We’re the next stop,” she said, grateful for the opportunity to occupy herself with putting on her jacket and picking up the rucksack, rather than dwelling on all the ways in which she was different when she was with Kate.  

 

“Already?”  Surprised at how quickly the journey time had flown by, Kate leant down and picked up the two coffee cups, not prepared to leave litter behind.  “And Os?”  she added, as she straightened, her voice keeping Osgood in her seat for a moment longer, rather than moving to stand by the now closed doors in anticipation of the next stop.

 

“Yes?”

 

“I-don’t-like-old-castle-type-buildings-much-but-will-go-round-it-if-that’s-what-you-want-to-do.”

 

There was a long pause as Osgood untangled what Kate’s garbled words had actually meant, before she started to grin, a genuine glasses-shifting grin that was infectious as Kate found herself starting to smile for no other reason than to share in her friend’s clear delight.

 

“What about a picnic and a boat trip?”


	9. Saturday, 9 October 2004: Cheese, bread and a bit of butter to hold it all together

“Aaaeee!”

 

“You ok?”  Osgood was concerned about the noise she’d just heard Kate make, but didn’t want to turn around, partly because Kate’s insistence that she was perfectly capable of clambering over the stones was still ringing in her ears from the last time she’d looked back, but also because she was not entirely certain she was stable enough to turn back to look until she’d got both feet onto this boulder and not just her right foot.

 

“That was a noise of delight,” declared Kate, replanting her right foot more securely on the flat surface of the boulder and pushing off with her left, enabling her to step equally firmly onto the next boulder.

 

“Ah.”  Prudently, Osgood decided not to ask what sort of noise Kate thought she would make if she was in actual danger.  “How about here?” she asked, turning around and looking back over the short distance she’d traversed, reasonably confident she’d made it to the point they’d identified before they set off.

 

“Perfect!”  Kate, mindful that Osgood was now watching her, took a brief moment to glance down and glare at her feet, as if daring them to do anything other than stick firmly to the next boulder she stepped onto, before sizing up the boulder that Osgood was already standing on and taking a big, bold step…

 

“Hello.”

 

“Is there room for two?” asked Kate, somewhat redundantly given she was already standing right next to Osgood.

 

“I think we can cope.”  Osgood looked around the boulders, “lake view or castle view?”

 

“How about both?” suggested Kate, gesturing to the next boulder which was just behind Osgood and looked like it was just about big enough for them to both sit on and would enable them to look out at both the Castle and across Lake Geneva which was looking its tranquil best despite it being the second week in October and not the height of summer.

 

“Ah…” Osgood tried to crane her neck around to see where Kate was pointing but didn’t like what it did for her sense of balance, prompting Kate to reach out and place a steadying hand on her hip.  “Thanks.”  Osgood repositioned her glasses as she thought for a moment about how she could turn around and get to the next boulder which, from what she remembered, hadn’t looked too difficult to step onto, but that was before she’d been sharing her current boulder with Kate.

 

“Give me the rucksack, then you can turn around.”

 

“Thanks.”  Osgood carefully slipped the straps off her shoulders and passed the rucksack, which contained their picnic as well as her wallet and a paperback novel, to Kate who, now she thought about it, was looking suspiciously triumphant.  “What?”

 

“Nothing!”  Kate’s bright and cheerful tone of voice was too artificial to be convincing.

 

“What’s that smirk for?”  The boulder they were standing on was very solid and very stable, so Osgood was happy to create the impression that she wasn’t bothered about moving until she’d got an answer to her question.

 

“I’ve got the rucksack.”

 

“Yes, because otherwise I wouldn’t be able to turn around without you stepping backwards off this rock to avoid me hitting you.”  The logical solution was therefore for Osgood to pass Kate the rucksack, which wasn’t reason for Kate to celebrate, or was it?

 

“It’s before lunch.” Kate emphasised her point by putting the rucksack on properly, rather than just holding it on one shoulder.

 

“Of course it’s…” Osgood stopped part way through agreeing with Kate as she belatedly remembered them leaving Kate’s apartment a few hours earlier when Kate had been insistent that Osgood shouldn’t carry the rucksack all day.  “You wanted to go one boulder further just so you’d get the rucksack, didn’t you?”

 

“Maybe…” confessed Kate, her smirk changing to a squint as the sun reemerged from behind the puffy cloud it had been hiding behind, “...but I think it will be worth it if you trust me?” 

 

“Always.”  Ducking her head, ostensibly to keep an eye on her feet whilst she moved in the moderately confined space that was their shared boulder, Osgood hoped that Kate hadn’t seen what she’d been ignoring and refusing to acknowledge within herself for months: she did trust Kate, more than she’d ever trusted anyone except possibly her father, but that wasn’t the same sort of trust.  “Which boulder?” She hoped her voice wasn’t sounding as cracked and emotional as she felt as she focussed on the line of boulders and stones stretching out into the lake to form a ‘groyne’ as her school geography lessons had taught her, although she didn’t think they were needed on lakes.

 

“That one…” Kate reached forwards to gesture to the large rock that was a couple of feet ahead of the one they were stood on, its shape looking like it would enable them to sit at the right angle to be able to take in the lake and the castle, rather than have to favour one view over another.  “...hang on,” she took a careful half step forwards and steadied herself by putting her left hand on Osgood’s hip.  “That one.”  Kate pointed with her right hand at the boulder she’d been thinking of, her chin practically resting on Osgood’s shoulder as she stood close behind her friend, her left hand resting forgotten at Osgood’s hip, fingers snagged in the edges of Osgood’s jacket and trouser pocket.

 

“Fine.”  Osgood’s voice was thick as she tried to speak through a dry mouth, her eyes tightly shut as she focussed on thinking about anything and everything except how close Kate was and how right it felt.  Kate was her friend, her best friend… her friend that was married... to a man a few weeks ago.

 

“Os?” Kate could hear that there was  _ something  _ in her friend’s voice that she’d not heard before, that she couldn’t quite interpret.  Confusion prompted concern, and concern triggered an overwhelming urge to protect, to defend, to cure if she could.  Acting purely out of instinct, Kate’s hands moved together, grasping Osgood in a tight embrace as her chin rested on the outside edge of her friend’s shoulder - close enough to shield and protect, but far enough away that she could angle her head to see her friend’s face in profile.  “What’s wrong?” Kate looked from Osgood’s tightly shut eyes to the line of boulders stretching out into the flat waters of the lake, desperately trying to see what could be causing Osgood’s obvious distress.  

 

“Don’t…” Osgood didn’t actually have any words that she felt could explain what was happening, but then she didn’t have any voice either.  In an ironic twist, the harder she was finding it to cope with having Kate so close and so concerned caused Kate to become even more concerned and seemingly try to hold her even more closely and tightly.  “Please…” she tried, finding the strength to move her hands to rest on Kate’s but not to pull them away from her waist.

 

“Of course!” Osgood might not have had the strength of will to break Kate’s gentle hold but the moment her hands touched Kate’s, they triggered a wave of guilt that roared through Kate like a fire and she let go abruptly.  “I’m sorry…” She took half a step back, consciously putting daylight between them as she frantically tried to remember the name of Osgood’s girlfriend, “...Tanya…”  Storent, that was it.

 

“We broke up.”

 

“Oh.”  Kate shoved her hands in her trouser pockets, not quite sure what to do with them, other than knowing she clearly couldn’t reach out to offer some comfort to Osgood as that seemed to be causing her pain.  “I’m sorry…”

 

“No!”  Osgood hated hearing sympathy and pain in her friend’s voice and tried to turn around again, only to be once more frustrated by their lack of room to manoeuvre.  “Umm, can we sit down first?”

 

“We?” Kate was relieved that her presence seemed to be welcome but didn’t want to make another metaphorical misstep, not when they were about to have to concentrate on their actual steps.

 

“We,” repeated Osgood, managing to sound more confident than she thought possible based on how badly her stomach was tied in knots.  “Together, on that rock,” she added, gesturing towards the one that Kate had originally identified, before setting off without waiting for Kate to respond.  Three steps later and she was in a position to sit down, the large boulder making for a very comfortable seat with a couple of smaller ones in front of it that she could rest her feet on easily.  Based on how the rest of the rocks and stones were arranged into this ‘groyne-like’ little jetty, it really did enable her to take in both the spectacular castle and the beautiful lake vista whilst feeling like there was no one else to intrude on their spot.  Or would feel like that if Kate could just come and sit down next to her.  “Come on?” she asked, turning back to look at Kate who was chewing her lip, clearly confused by her friend’s rather mixed signals.

 

Clearly she’d done something right or, more probably thought Osgood in a brief moment of pessimism, not too wrong as Kate stepped decisively across the boulders and sat down next to her.

 

“Wow.”  For a moment, Kate was unable to say anything else as she was momentarily stunned by the views, and the unexpected scale of the scenery and sense that, aside from Osgood, they were on their own in this landscape.  Then reality intruded as a seagull’s haunting ‘kaw’ shattered their bubble of calm and their earlier nervy confusion returned.  

 

“Picnic?”

 

“In the rucksack,” answered Osgood, chewing on her lip as she deliberately not looked at Kate, suddenly dreading Kate’s reaction to her careful planning.

 

Squashing her instinct to make a snappy comment, Kate risked a quick sideways half-glance at Osgood who was still exhibiting all the signs of nervous terror that Kate might have more readily associated with Osgood being asked to sit next to a tiger, before focussing instead on unpacking the picnic which, save for a couple of bottles of mineral water that Osgood had bought at the station just before they’d walked up to the castle.

 

“One each?” She guessed, extracting the two identical half litre bottles of water and holding one out for Osgood.

 

“Thank you.”  Osgood managed to smile as she accepted the bottle, feeling horrible for not being better company in what was supposed to be the perfect ‘moment’.

 

“I’m the one that should be thanking you….” protested Kate, consciously trying to give Osgood the small bit of space and time she clearly needed after whatever ‘moment’ it was she’d just had.  “This is a wonderful mystery…” she continued, opening the top of the rucksack wider so that she could reach down into the dark depths for whatever it was that made up the mainstay of their lunch.  “I think this is the first picnic I haven’t packed since…” Kate paused and looked out at a small boat that was sailing serenely across the lake in the distance, the sunlight occasionally reflecting brightly off an angled window as the little boat made minute changes to its course, “...before Gordy was born I guess.”  Not quite believing her own answer, she worked through her logic, muttering to herself as she made sure.  “Certainly Gordy’s never made a picnic, nor would…” she cleared her throat in lieu of her husband, ex-husband’s name, “...and when Gordy was younger...my mother? Hardly...so…” She risked another quick glance at Osgood to see if she was giving any sign of paying attention yet, “...unless work ever did something, this is the first in a very long time.”

 

“That would be more a packed lunch.”

 

“Sorry?”  Surprised, Kate hadn’t properly caught Osgood’s comment.

 

“If the university ever did anything,” clarified Osgood, looking at Kate with a tentative smile as she adjusted her glasses, squinting slightly as the sunlight reflected off the water, “it was probably more like a packed lunch than a picnic?”

 

“Yes!”

 

“Same for me.  About the packed lunch I mean…” It was Osgood’s turn to look thoughtful for a moment, “actually, I think this is my first picnic.”  She thought for a moment, remembering and dismissing various ‘meals outdoors’ which were not the same as a picnic.  “Yes, first picnic, that I’ve prepared.  My...” Osgood was about to say that her mother always did the ‘family’ picnics but managed to stop herself just in time, worried that Kate would react badly to the comparison, only for Kate to have reached the same conclusion.

 

“The curse of being a mother - we insist on keeping all the fun tasks as compensation for all the chores,” she teased, relieved to see Osgood was recovering her equilibrium after whatever it was that had disturbed it.  “We should be toasting this auspicious picnic!”

 

“How would you bring a toasted sandwich maker on a picnic?” Osgood had interpreted Kate’s suggestion far too literally and asked her question before she’d really noticed she was talking, only to clamp her hand over her mouth in despair when she realised what she’d said.

 

“I was thinking more champagne…” observed Kate, momentarily getting excited when she heard mention of a sandwich, only to quickly abandon those thoughts when she remembered they were in Switzerland, part of the ubiquitous ‘abroad’ that had many, many culinary delights far superior to those of home and yet, somehow worse.  “Or schnapps,” she added, trying to force herself to remember she was in Switzerland as she cautiously investigated the rucksack to see what Osgood had packed in her first picnic.

 

“I hope it’s ok…” began Osgood, her nervousness at being with Kate now being overtaken by her nervousness about whether her picnic choices were acceptable, “...I mean it’s not very exciting…” she continued, seeing Kate pull out the aluminium foil wrapped cuboid shape that, in what Osgood could almost consider was a miracle, was not overly squashed or misshapen.

 

“You made this.” It was a statement, not a question, declared by Kate as she was reverently unwrapping the aluminium foil as carefully as if it were prized antique lace.

 

“Yes.”  Lapsing into silence, Osgood was virtually holding her breath as Kate lifted back the final fold of foil to reveal…

 

“Is this?”

 

“Hovis Granary medium sliced, cheddar cheese and some butter to hold it together.”  Osgood repositioned her glasses as she looked at the neat pile of sandwiches sat on Kate’s lap.  “The tomatoes didn’t survive the tube journey.”

 

“Tube journey?”  Slack jawed, Kate looked at Osgood in amazement.  “You mean?”

 

“I went to M&S in at lunch yesterday, bought the bread, cheese, butter and some tomatoes...but they’d got squashed, I think someone stood on them…” Osgood was still trying to work out how her tomatoes, carefully selected for their ripeness and redness, had been a pulpy mess by the time she’d arrived at the queue for check in, with her only conclusion that, in the rush hour tube journey out to Heathrow, someone had stood on her carrier bag whilst she was sitting down, ruining the fruit.

 

“I…” Kate was speechless as she once again looked at the sandwiches that, whilst ordinary to the point of being almost dull by many people’s standards (including anyone who had ever ‘designed’ a sandwich for a coffee shop or cafe), were Kate’s idea of the ‘perfect’ sandwich.  She’d made literally hundreds if not thousands of them for her and Gordy over the years, not realising how difficult it would be to recreate something so basic whilst living in another country.  

 

“It’s not much…” began Osgood, worrying when she saw what looked like tears forming in her friend’s eyes, “...I should have probably just bought something at the market this morning,” she rushed, instinctively associating Kate’s obviously emotional response with disappointment and sadness, only to freeze when she felt Kate’s hand on her knee.

 

“It’s perfect…”

 

“But you’re crying?”

 

“Am I?”  Kate laughed as she blinked, hard, not daring to let go of her hold on the precious sandwiches.

 

“Yes…” Forgetting all her resolve about not showing Kate how she felt, and ignoring that annoying little voice that sounded so much like her sister as it reminded her how recently Kate had been _ married _ , Osgood acted purely on instinct, without any thought or consideration about what might happen.  Reaching out, she lightly rested the fingertips of her right hand on Kate’s jaw and with her thumb, gently traced across the line of the delicate cheekbone, catching the drops of moisture that were gathering there.

 

Task complete, she started to pull her hand away, only for Kate to lift her left hand up to keep Osgood’s as hand steady as Kate’s watery eyes were, locked on her friend’s.

 

“Kate…”  Whispering hoarsely, Osgood wanted to pull away, to close her eyes and try to rebuild some sort of wall or barrier behind which she could once again start concealing her feelings, feelings that had started last summer as intellectual kinship before developing into a friendship that had strengthened and deepened and evolved until Osgood could finally no longer deny to herself that her feelings for Kate had a depth and a significance to them far greater than could be ascribed to a relationship as ‘small’ as a friendship.  “...don’t tease…” she pleaded, not caring if she was sounding weak or desperate.  She knew she’d let her defences be broken, knew she’d shown enough of a crack in her barriers that her feelings could be seen, knew that their friendship would change once it was out in the open that yes, she’d been  _ that  _ idiotic cliche, the lesbian that fell for their married, straight best friend.

 

Wordlessly, Kate stroked a light random pattern on the back of Osgood’s hand as she turned her head just enough to be able to press a gentle, careful kiss on the palm.

 

“I’m not teasing…”

 

“Kate…” Osgood tried to reclaim her hand, only for Kate to kiss it again and tighten her hold on it, although in deference to Osgood’s spine, she did guide it down so their joined hands rested on her knee, carefully avoiding squashing the sandwiches.

 

“I’m not teasing Os…”  Letting go of the precious sandwiches with her right hand, she reached up and gently caught hold of Osgood’s chin, catching a tear with her fingertip.

 

“You’re the only one who calls me Os…”

 

“Oh!  I’m sorry…” Kate pulled back sharply, only for Osgood to catch hold of her hand, limiting how far she could pull away.

 

“Sh…”   Osgood risked pressing a fleeting kiss to the knuckle of Kate’s right hand, “you’re the only one who calls me Os because I’ve always got cross, ever since I was a toddler.”

 

“I’ve been calling you Os for months…”

 

“I know.”  Osgood shrugged, certain she was blushing, “I like it.”  She wanted to reposition her glasses but that would mean letting go of Kate’s hands so she canted her head and wiggled her nose slightly which had the same calming effect.  

 

“I want to kiss you…” 

 

“Okay…” There was something about the way Kate just blurted it out that made Osgood pause with what felt like her heart stopping mid-beat as she waited for the ‘but’, waited for the world to start turning again.

 

“I want to kiss you but…” Kate looked down at her lap, seemingly unable to maintain eye contact.

 

“It’s okay, whatever it is,” assured Osgood, trying to believe her words as she tried not to pull away in anticipation of the inevitable rejection.

 

“I want to kiss you Os,” repeated Kate firmly, looking back up at Osgood, a familiar looking smirk forming on her face, making Osgood pause once more, completely off balance as to what was happening.  “But I’m worried about the sandwiches.”

 

“The sandwiches?”  Osgood could not keep her surprise and confusion from either her voice or her expression.

 

“I don’t want to drop them.”  It was Kate’s turn to look nervous before she remembered how matter-of-fact and non-judgemental Osgood had been after she’d eaten four pancakes for breakfast, “and I’m hungry.”

 

“Oh.”  Osgood looked at the sandwiches, which, now she thought about it, would be starting to dry out in the sun and light breeze, not to mention the fact that they had eaten breakfast quite early, and had been walking for quite a while.  And then she looked back up at Kate, this amazing woman who apparently understood her better than anyone she’d ever met before, who Osgood found she could enjoy teasing as easily and as gently as she discovered she enjoyed being teased by… her friend… her best friend… her girlfriend?

 

“Os?”  Kate waited as long as she could, certain that her heart was audible as it tried to pound its way out of her chest.

  
“There’s a bar of fruit and nut for afters.”

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks (as always) to darklioness82 for her general willingness to tolerate my endless Who questions and general rambling, but also particular thanks for the 'thumbnail sketch' she had for Flo and Winifred (Flo is not canon and is entirely darklioness82's character idea) that not only helped me see how this story would work, but also kindly gave me her permission to add her character idea to my cast list alongside the (more and less) familiar characters from the Who-verse.
> 
> Thomas Tarquin Perkins is my own (short lived) creation 
> 
> I have never been to Switzerland - I hope I have created a plausible interpretation for the purposes of telling a story. However, as always, if there's something that could be improved upon through a factual correction, please let me know.
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoyed reading this fic, thank you for taking the time to do so.


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